


Brothers | A Collection of One-Shots

by Milletrye



Category: Phineas and Ferb
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-20
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2018-08-23 14:01:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 22,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8330518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Milletrye/pseuds/Milletrye
Summary: Many months after the end of Brothers, I am inspired to fill some gaps.If you have any suggestions on scenes to write down, let me know!





	1. #1 - The Room Where It Happens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the final chapters of Brothers, Ferb seeks out his counterpart, knowing that only he can talk some sense into him. Ferb-style.

Ferb made his way towards his look-alike’s room, following the directions he’d been given. Once he was there, he knocked, polite as ever. 

“Leave me alone!”, an all too familiar voice yelled from behind the door. “I told you, Can, I’m fine. Go bother someone else.”

Ferb waited a couple of seconds after his friend went silent again, then slowly opened the door. The first thing he saw was a desk, but that was not where he found Fern. No, the boy was standing behind it, leaning on a windowsill as he stared outside.

“Didn’t you hear me? Go away!” Enraged, Fern turned around, only to come to an abrupt halt as soon as he saw his visitor. He was tired, Ferb noticed, his usually styled hair looking uncharacteristically unkempt, and circles around the eyes. “...Ferb”, he said at last, taken aback - but just as tired as he looked. “What… what are you doing here?”

Without a word, Ferb held up the jacket he had borrowed from his friend about a month ago, and Fern took it back with a nod. The jacket seemed to give comfort to him as he put it back on, as if he had really missed wearing it.

“Thanks”, Fern said, gesturing to the desk and the two chairs on its opposing sides. “Let’s sit down.”

Ferb followed his offer, noticing again how worn out his friend was, supporting himself with both arms on the table.

“So... how is life? Everything alright in your dimension? How is Phineas doing, and your parents?”

Ferb replied only by raising an eyebrow, not changing his questioning expression even in the resulting silence.

A silence Fern didn’t decide to break. He broke eye contact, however, and Ferb remembered what Can had told him. That Fern, apparently, was talking even less than him.

Ferb could wait. Minutes passed, during which Fern glanced at him several times, as if checking on if he had left him alone yet. And indeed, after some time, Ferb stood up, turning to leave.

“Ferb, wait.”

He did.

“...I’m sorry.”

He turned back, sitting down again.

“Do you get nightmares as well?”, Fern asked.

He nodded, glad he didn’t have to be the one to bring up the topic. “Thank you”, he said. “For saving Phineas.”

“I had to”, Fern replied with another sigh. “Kill Finn, I mean. Nobody else would have.”

Again, Ferb nodded, leaving it to his friend to speak more.

“Can gets mad at me about it sometimes”, he said. “Even though we both know it had to happen. And then there’s, you know, all that other stuff. You know what’s going to happen, right? I’ll become king today. Officially.”

Ferb knew, indeed. He thought back to the tales of King Arthur, and back to when Fern had talked to the Duke for the last time. “You’ll do great.”

“But worse than you.”

Ferb wanted to interrupt him, to tell him that no, he was perfectly fine with being “just Ferb”, but his friend went on talking before he could get the chance.

“Remember what you said after the fight with Phineas?”

There it was again, the scene that had continued haunting his mind for nights on end. The blood on his sword, the screams of his brother. _ His brother.  _ He remembered.  _ “He’s not my brother!” _ , he had shouted.  _ “We’re not the ones you’ve been waiting for.” _

“I’ve been thinking”, Fern said, reading his face and knowing the words in his head. “You were right with what you said back then.”

Ferb raised an eyebrow, then pondered. He was still alive, and so was Phineas. Finn, on the other hand…

His eyes lit up in surprise as it dawned on him what Fern was implying.

“So you get what I mean”, Fern stated, amused. But only for a split second. “It all makes perfect sense, doesn’t it? The prophecy isn’t about you and Phineas. It never was.” He rambled on, and Ferb realized that he had never shared these thoughts with anyone before. Only now did he talk about them, with the only person he thought would understand: himself. “I guess we should have known the second we first met. Phineas’ hair is much brighter than blood, and I had our side of that line right in my name all along. The Duke was right; I guess we only see what we want to see.

“And the verse about the two worlds, Ferb, that was never about our two dimensions. That wouldn’t have made sense, I mean, just listen.  _ “Two worlds apart since decades past, bringing peace to both at last.”  _ It’s not like your dimension was ever in any trouble before the Duke captured Phineas. But there  _ are _ worlds that fit the verse word for word, you know. My world and that of the others. Royalty and peasantry. Tristadtia itself, ruined by the Duke and my father. And I, well - I’m the guy supposed to fix all of that.”

“By claiming Finn’s fate as the heir to the throne”, Ferb finished with another line from the prophecy.

“Exactly. I’ve got to do it, no matter what. Even if I’m not up for it.”

“Because you’re the only one who can.”

Fern sighed. “I am, aren’t I? As evil as the Duke was, he could read me well enough. And Ivan, for that matter. He knew exactly how to create a prophecy I’d only truly understand when the time had come.”

What Ferb had thought all along proved true as Fern spoke: Ivan knew his friend better than anyone else. Much like Irving, in a way, that self-proclaimed biggest fan of Phineas and Ferb. Ferb smiled as he once again found a similarity between two counterparts that, at first glance, had nothing in common at all.

And he smiled at Fern, knowing they were both thinking the same.

Fern rose from his seat, adjusting his jacket once more. “Go meet the others in the throne room”, he said, cracking the smile Ferb had last seen on him so many weeks ago. “The time has come.”


	2. #2 - Where It Leaves Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After two very moving speeches about each other, Bal and Fern reminisce about how it all began - and about where exactly it is going to take them.

“Hey.”

Bal flinched.

“Hope I’m not disturbing anything.”

“No”, Bal said. He had just spent the last hour or two sitting here, on the very walls of Firestone Castle, staring into the night sky. Countless stars were high above him, and not a single breeze was in the air. A perfect night - interrupted at last by none other than Fern.

The boy he could not bear to look at. Not after what he had said that day.

Still, he risked a glance, only to see that Fern had sat down next to him. What did he want? He could not just be here to watch the stars. That was not was Fern did. No, Bal already had quite a guess as to why he was here.

“Thank you”, he said without another word. Fern would know.

“Hey”, the boy replied. “Don’t thank me. Everything I told those people was the truth and you know it. It’s what you deserved.”

 _No. No, it is not._ Bal was not much of a great person. There were so many things he had done wrong, people he had left for dead. Things Fern pretended not to care about only because of Bal’s loyalty to him.

“You stuck with me from the very beginning”, Fern continued. “Ever since we first met. Remember that?”

How could he not?

 

“I see you’re awake. Good morning.”

Morning? The last he remembered was noon. When had he fallen asleep? And where was he, anyway?

He tried to get up, supporting himself with his elbows, but a stabbing pain ran through his back. He lay down with a groan, closing his eyes.

“Don’t get up”, said the voice. “The darkling ripped half your back open. You’re not going anywhere for a while.”

 _The darkling._ He remembered. Its hungry eyes. Its teeth. Its claws.

And Bue, his friend, his only one - right in front of it.

“Where is he?”, he managed to ask, his voice weak but terrified. “Is he alright?”

“Yeah. Thanks to you.” Another voice.

He collected his strength and lifted his head. He spotted two boys: a small one with ginger hair and scarred, pale eyes, and a green-haired one with an oddly rectangular head.

And it was him who continued to speak: “You rushed at him to shield him from that darkling. He’d be dead without you.”

He had saved Bue’s life twice that day, he realized. But… “How would you know?”

The green-haired boy replied with a smile. “Because I saved you.”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I was close by when it happened. I killed the darkling and brought you here with your friend’s help.”

“How long have I been here?”

“Almost a day”, said the ginger boy, confirming his thoughts.

“I feared you wouldn’t make it”, added the other one. “But Ivan didn’t stop believing in you.”

 _Ivan_ , he noted. “And you are?”

“Fern. And you’re Bal, right? Your friend wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

He froze. “What did he tell you?”

“Not much”, Fern shrugged, but Bal could read the look on Ivan’s face: _“Your secret’s safe with me.”_

“Good”, he said. _Fern does not have to know._

 

All of a sudden, Bal felt guilty once again. “I never told you what had happened.”

“The Duke exposed both of us, didn’t he? At least now we don’t have secrets anymore.”

 _No more secrets._ “I had a crush on Can, you know.”

If Fern was surprised, he hid it well. “Can’t blame you. She’s great to be around. Just not romantically, for me. Blame it on our history.”

“And blame my crush on ours.”

 

A day after first waking up, Bal was able to sit up again at last. His back still hurt, but even this was better than being unable to do anything at all. He ran a hand down his back, touching the bandages. At least he was alive. At least Bue was.

“Looks like Ivan patched you up after all.”

“Yeah, you were a bloody mess yesterday. Literally.”

Two voices he did not recognize. Voices that sounded like they were making fun of him. He turned his head to the tunnel’s entrance, spotting the two boys they belonged to.

“What do you want?”, he asked, glaring.

“Chill”, said the boy with blond hair. “We saw you when you got here yesterday.”

“And we heard about what you did”, added the dark-haired one. “Jumping in front of a darkling, that’s pretty tough. Tough and completely nuts.”

Bal was fed up with them already. “I did it to save my friend.”

“Doesn’t change a thing I’m saying. Tough and nuts, that’s what you are.”

“Shut up”, Bal muttered. _What else was I supposed to do?_

“Why? Did I say something wrong?”

“Just leave him alone, you two.”

Bal looked up as the two guys flinched a little, all three of them surprised by the girl who appeared now, her confident face framed by long orange hair.

“Oh, hey, Can”, the blond boy said at last. “We were just -”

“I heard every word. And I said leave him alone.” Her voice allowed no objection, and even though they were the same age as her, the two boys hurried away.

“Sorry about that”, the girl said, sitting down right next to Bal. And he let her. “You know how boys are.”

He nodded. He had known for years. “I am used to it”, he said. “But thank you, still.”

“Someone’s got to keep all the guys in check”, she chuckled. “Anyway, I’m Can. Nice to meet you.”

“Bal.” He sighed. “But I suppose you know that already. Everyone seems to be aware of what happened.”

“You’re not wrong. Not everyone winds up here saving someone else from a darkling. And living to tell the tale.”

“No need to tell if people know already. And anyway, let them know I am not a special person. Everyone would have done the same.”

“Hey”, she smiled, lifting his head and forcing him to look directly into her deep blue eyes. “I know loads of guys with way too much confidence who’d never dare anything brave. And now you come along, no confidence whatsoever, doing what nobody’s done before. Maybe I’m the only person to ever admit it, but seriously. If you ask me, you’re pretty cool.”

 

“So that’s why you started to like her”, Fern nodded, and Bal sensed amusement in his voice.

“Is it that ridiculous?”

“What? No. I think it’s perfectly understandable.” Still, Fern smiled as he gazed up into the night sky. “I’m just wondering where that leaves me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, my little speech. I, too, told you what I think of you.”

Bal hesitated. What was he supposed to reply to that? “You also told me not to thank you.”

“Okay, you know what? Forget that. Thank me all the way you want - but you’ll have to let me thank you as well.”

“You already did.”

Fern inched closer to him, taking his hand in both of his own. “I mean it, Bal”, he said, quiet but determined. “You’re a wonderful person. Don’t let anyone, ever, tell you otherwise.”

Bal looked at their hands, confused at first, but then his gaze went upwards, meeting Fern’s. Smiling.

Even in this dim light, he saw Fern blush. The boy broke eye contact, one of his hands letting go of Bal’s, and he stared back at the stars.

Bal, too, watched them now, those little sparks of hope in an endless sea of darkness. And, returning the grasp Fern’s hand had of his own, Bal knew that right here, right now, there was no one he would rather be doing this with.


	3. #3 - An Improbable Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Fern's letter that would finally release his father from prison after six long years, Buford sets out to do exactly that, determined to make it Bernie's best day ever.

On any other day, Buford would have made fun of Baljeet for scheduling his every activity - but for once, it was the bully himself doing so. Today was the day he’d get his dad out of prison, and today had to be absolutely perfect.

He didn’t have to worry about Fern’s request being rejected; he had already taken care of that issue some days ago. Whoever was in charge had accepted, and today they’d let his dad out of that place.

_ Took them long enough. _

Buford checked his phone. Eight in the morning - just like he’d planned. He entered the backyard of the Flynn-Fletcher family, pausing for just a moment as he watched the leaves of the oh so symbolic tree fall to the ground. At least for this year, summer was over at last, and school had started again. He was supposed to be there right now, in fact, but he rather used the absence of everyone else to carry out his plan. Even with summer gone, the teleporter the others had built was still right there, standing in the backyard as if just waiting for Buford to finally walk through.

He gladly answered the call.

 

“What are  _ you _ doing here?”

“Missed you too, grumpy face.” Buford glared up, not down, at his nerd’s counterpart from the other dimension. The height difference between this guy and Baljeet still unsettled him. “But I didn’t come here for you. I’m here to pick up dinner bell’s dad and Ferb’s mom.”

“And what do you want from them?”, Bal continued. “We need them more than your world does, and if it is important at all, Phineas and Ferb could have come here themselves.”

“Nah, they’ve got other things to do.” Buford crossed his arms. “And besides, it’s not their business anyway. It’s mine.”

Bal raised an eyebrow. “You are not going to leave no matter how hard I try to make you, correct?”

“Absolutely.”

Bal sighed. “Fine. You are lucky I know where they are at this time of day.” He then proceeded to lead Buford through the halls of Firestone Castle, and the bully didn’t bother teasing him. It was fun with Baljeet, of course, but that was because he was small. And a nerd. This guy, on the other hand… he was already grumpy to begin with.

They stopped in front of a door. Bal knocked, they waited - and nothing happened.

“You sure they’re in here?”, Buford asked, but the other boy’s expression remained unmoved.

“Just you wait.”

And so he did.

Just when he was about to enter that room anyway, the door swung open at last. It was Josh standing in the doorframe now, with the same bags under his eyes that Buford had last seen him with. In spite of that, however, his mind seemed wide awake.

“Sorry I left you waiting! We were just working on our latest invention, the - Buford? What are you doing here?” His eyes scanned the hallways, spotting no one but the two boys standing in it. “Did something happen to Phineas and the others?”

“I will leave you to it”, Bal said as he turned to go. “Be sure to bring them back as soon as possible.”

“You  _ really _ want Mel and me to come with you?”, Josh asked, worry in his voice - enough to make Melody appear behind him, her expression confused.

“Chill”, Buford replied. “Your sons are fine. But I thought you’d like to see my dad again.”

Their faces lit up immediately. “Bernie?”, Josh grinned, reminding Buford of their first encounter. “Of course! Why didn’t you come ask us sooner?”

“You know he’s been in prison.” Buford allowed himself to get angry, but just for a moment. He continued proudly. “They’re letting him out today. He doesn’t know that yet, though. Or that we’re gonna be there. Trust me, I’ve got it all planned out.”

Josh glanced at Melody, then nodded. “I don’t see why we shouldn’t take some time off of this and pay our friend a visit. It’s been ten years! I’m sure Fern will understand.”

Buford followed them to this dimension’s teleporter, mentally going through the schedule he’d made.  _ Get Melody and Josh? Check. _

 

Back on Maple Drive, Josh brought up another question. “So is your mother going to drive us there?”

“Nah”, Buford declined. “She’s completely clueless on the matter.” Bernie wasn’t the only person he’d surprise that day.

“I see… Linda, then?”

“Are you kidding me? She knows my dad. I don’t -” He paused himself, trying to find a good excuse. But he knew there wouldn’t be a better one than the truth. “I don’t want her to be there. Dad’s getting out of prison, and the first person he sees is gonna be  _ me _ . And you guys. And then my mom.  _ Not  _ dinner bell’s mom. She… she isn’t…”

“Family”, Melody finished what he hadn’t wanted to say out loud, and Buford blinked.

“You get what I mean?”

Josh nodded. “When thinking about who Bernie’d want to see after all this time, Linda wouldn’t be as high on the list as we are.” Still, he raised a brow. “So we’re getting a taxi?”

Buford snorted. “Do I look like I’d pay for this? I told you, I’ve got it all planned out.”

Just then, a cyan car pulled into the street, coming to a halt right in front of the Flynn-Fletcher house.

“Et voilà”, Buford announced with an overdramatic bow before making his way onto the passenger seat. “Thanks for helping me out, Jeremy.”

“No problem, Buford”, said the teenage boy that was driving the car. “I only have to be at my college in a few hours today, so I’ve got enough time to drive you guys around.” Like Buford, he watched his other two passengers take a seat in the back. “So you’re Mr. Flynn and Mrs. Fletcher. Candace told me about you.”

“She did?”, Josh asked, and Buford nodded.

“He’s her boyfriend.”

“Ah”, Josh said. “Well, Jeremy, please call me Josh. And her Melody. We’re not serious enough to warrant a title.”

“That’s fine with me”, the boy smiled as he started the car again. “So I’ve heard you are inventing things, too. Are they as big and spectacular as what your sons tend to do?”

Buford didn’t pay much attention to their talk. A look at his phone told him it was nine thirty, right on time.  _ Get a car? Check. _

\---

When the door to his room swung open, the last person Bernie had expected to come in did exactly that.

“Buford?”, he asked, his voice as happy as always when his son visited him, but just as confused.

“Dad!”, the boy grinned, sounding just like his father; equally excited and bewildered as his gaze shifted from Bernie to the bags next to him. “You packed?”

Bernie nodded, only now noticing the official that had entered behind his son. “Didn’t he tell you? I’m supposed to be relocated today. Whatever that’s even supposed to mean.”

“Dad”, Buford said. “I can tell you what that means.  _ I _ told them to tell you that.”

“What do you mean?” For once, his son was talking nonsense. He stared at him in realisation.  _ Unless, that is… _

“They’re letting you go, Dad”, Buford whispered, as if he himself couldn’t believe it either. “You’re going home.”

_ Home. _ When had he last dared consider this possibility? It must have been years. Almost the full six of them that he had been here. And now, at long last…

He was at a loss for words, only one escaping his mouth; the single question he could not find an answer to. “...how?”

“Connections, Dad.” Buford smiled, and Bernie could see his son’s mother in him,  _ his wife _ , looking at him with the same unmistakable smile. He felt the tears on his cheeks, but did nothing to stop them. Instead, he hugged his son, not ever wanting to let go.

“Dad.”

“Huh?”

“I think the car’s in a no-parking zone.”

 

Buford was right. When they arrived in front of it,  _ outside _ for the first time in years, a blond boy was quick to put Bernie’s bags into the back of the car.

“I’m Jeremy Johnson”, he introduced himself, and Bernie found himself nodding as the memories returned.

“I think I saw you once or twice back when I was working with your father. A great man. I never got to thank him for helping me with the satellites.”

“His dad helped you?”, Buford asked, and Bernie knew what he was thinking. He was wondering why only one of them had ended up in prison.

“He told me about it”, Jeremy admitted. “My dad’s working at the Space Laboratory, so when your dad wanted to know more about satellites, he helped him out. He said that when your dad got arrested, he took all the credit for what they’d done, saving my dad from the punishment.” He turned to Bernie, grateful now. “You probably don’t know it, but I’ve got a little sister, Suzy. If you hadn’t saved my dad back then, she wouldn’t have had one. So… thanks. Even though I’m still not exactly sure what you needed the satellites for in the first place.”

“Well”, Bernie began, “The reason I hacked into all of Earth’s satellites back then is that -” He paused himself, looking at Buford, who had nudged him to get his attention. “What is it?”

His son grinned. “I just thought you’d like to tell them in person.”

Bernie froze as he detected a movement from inside the car, and watched in utter petrification as two all too familiar faces appeared on the sidewalk: a man and a woman, ten years older than when he’d last seen them, but with the very same charisma he remembered them for.

“Bernie”, Melody said, and for the second time in minutes, he found himself tearing up. They’d only ever talked online via video chat because of her living in London, and now she was standing right in front of him…

“Mel”, he replied, his words choked. “Josh.”

“Bernie”, Josh repeated his name. “I’m sorry for having been gone for so long.”

“It’s… it’s alright. As long as you two are alive and well.”

His friends shared a look, one that Bernie could tell was full of hidden meanings he didn’t understand. He could, though, if only he knew the answer to a related question.

“...what have you been doing these past years?”

The smile on Josh’s face reappeared, but it was a forced kind that Bernie had never seen on his friend before. A kind that he only knew from his own days in prison. “Maybe”, Josh said, “We should discuss your son’s incredible adventures another time.”

_ What have you been doing? _ , he wondered again.  _ Avoiding the topic like this… _

Bernie looked at his son, hoping that maybe Buford would give him a proper reply. But the boy only approved of Josh’s words. “There’ll be lots of time for that stuff. Right now, though, I’d say we go see Mom.”

“Biffany”, he whispered her name, the image of his wonderful wife appearing in his head. “Does she…?”

“Know? Nope.” Buford grinned. “So squeeze yourselves into the car.”

They all did, and as they drove, Bernie could not help but glance at his friends and son over and over again. The thought that all of this was really happening and not just a mere dream… no, it was still too incredible to be true. And yet, here he was, here  _ they were _ ...

And then, they were  _ there _ .

The same one-story building, the same ranch-style front porch he’d sat on on those perfect summer nights that were neither too warm not too cold, with Josh by his side, Biffany’s freshly-baked cookies, and not a care in the world. 

“Ah, memories”, Josh savored as they stepped out of the car.

Bernie nodded as he continued to take it all in. “The good old days.”

Buford quite literally dragged him towards the door, as Bernie himself was still lost in awe and memories, quickly replaced by anxiousness as they reached the door. Buford took out his keys - and entered the house with a loud “Mom, I’m home!” that she couldn’t possibly have missed.

Bernie heard rushed footsteps from another room… and then a scream as she caught sight of him. The scream was full of surprise, of course, but it was a happy kind of surprise, the exact kind he had expected. And since it was Biffany, it was also a scream louder than any Bernie himself would have ever managed. And before he could have braced himself, she was already there, hugging him with her big, strong arms that could easily squeeze all air out of his body.

But he let it happen, let her do what had been due for six years now. Seconds later, he felt Buford join in, and then, through his tears, he noticed his two best friends, Josh and Melody, awkwardly standing nearby. With a subtle nod, he invited them to join in this hug that could have lasted forever. And it was then he realized that no, this moment wasn’t impossible at all.

Only... improbable.


	4. #4 - All of My Failures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josh decides to visit Phineas in the hospital. Phineas, the boy who reminds him way too much of Finn... and worse.  
> Why did he think this was a good idea again?

Why was this so difficult?

Josh paced up and down the hospital hallway, right in front of the door to the room he had been planning to enter for a good ten minutes now. He knew both of the people stationed there: one of them was Melody Fletcher, a woman he had considered one of his closest friends for several years of his life before things had gone horribly wrong. But she wasn’t the reason he hesitated.

Who was he kidding, he wasn’t  _ hesitating _ . He was utterly terrified of going into this room. All by himself… well, Ferb would join him later, but he wasn’t going to wait out here. He couldn’t do that. Ferb would be disappointed in him, and Phineas… what would he say if he learned that his own father was scared of him?

Josh groaned.  _ Phineas. Phineas Flynn. _ The name echoed in his head, almost even mocking him. Phineas  _ Flynn _ , his very own biological son - and he couldn’t bear looking at him. It wasn’t the first time he’d meet him, they had seen each other two times already, yesterday and the day before. Well, Phineas had seen him, anyway - Josh had counted on the rest of the group distracting Phineas long enough for him to avoid looking at his son at all. In fact, ever since he had built a new teleporter to return back to Danville, in all this time, he had never once looked at Phineas for longer than a second. 

It was ridiculous, of course it was - and that was why he had decided to be here today. Now it  _ was _ today, it  _ was _ here… and Josh was still pacing up and down the hallway like the most stupid coward the world had ever seen.

_ You’re Josh Flynn, for crying out loud _ , he thought to himself.  _ You’ve visited more planets than any other human ever will, you’ve built the greatest inventions the world has ever seen, you have one of the most brilliant imaginations of human history. And you’re letting this stop you? _

“No”, he said, out loud this time. In a brief spurt of courage, he pushed open the door to the room he knew he’d find his friend and son, and immediately wished he hadn’t.

There he stood now, in the doorframe, staring at nothing in particular as he was once again overwhelmed by his doubts. What was he even supposed to say? As much as he’d worried about this before, he didn’t have a plan, at all. Oh, he’d known this was a bad idea. A bad idea he couldn’t get out of anymore.

“Hey”, an all too familiar voice interrupted his thoughts, and he found himself flinching and nearly breaking his hand as his grip on the door tightened. Now he  _ fully  _ remembered why this was a bad idea. This was his son, Phineas, speaking to him, yes, but all he heard was Finn. Finn, the boy whose years had become a living hell all thanks to him, the boy who had done nothing wrong in his entire life yet now lay dead, mercy-killed after standing up to his cruel master at last… all of which was Josh’s fault. It was his fault the darklings had existed, his fault so many things had gone horribly, horribly wrong…

“Dad.”

Josh forced himself to look at him. He tried, he really tried - but the boy’s triangular head, his red hair, his deep blue eyes; they were all too similar to the boy he’d seen for so many years now, so full of hope until… until…

“Dad”, Phineas said again, and only now did Josh notice how much he was shaking, and how much he must be scaring his son… “Dad, what’s wrong?” There was concern in his voice, concern a cheerful boy like Phineas shouldn’t ever have.

“I’m sorry”, he replied, painfully aware of the tears in his eyes and the crack in his voice. “I’m sorry, Phineas. I’m sorry for everything. I -”

“Dad, please.” Did Phineas know how  _ hard _ he made it for him with that desperate voice of his? “I want to help you. I really do. You just have to let me.”

Without saying anything, and still without looking at him, Josh managed a nod. He had to try. For himself, for Finn, and for Phineas.

“Okay.” Phineas did his best to sound optimistic again. “Come here and sit down. You don’t… you don’t have to look at me if it bothers you.”

Josh followed the order, and sighed as he indeed looked at the ground instead of at the boy. “I’m sorry”, he repeated. “I’m not even able to look my own son into the eyes.”

“Why?”, Phineas asked, a tad upset but careful not to make his father feel too guilty about it.

“It has nothing to do with you”, Josh stated truthfully. “But… looking at you… it reminds me of all of my failures.”

“...what?”

Josh felt the need to facepalm at his own stupidity, but chose not to. “ _ You’re _ not a failure, Phineas. By no means. From what I’ve heard, you’re one of the greatest people of our time. Punch me if I made it sound different. No, Phineas, I… I see Finn when I look at you. I hear him when you speak. I don’t know if you’re aware of it. You’re so much like him, in every way. I mean, so much like him before he… before I…”

“I know, Dad”, Phineas interrupted him, sparing him from having to explain, something Josh was utterly thankful for. “Ferb already told me.”

“It’s all my fault”, Josh nodded. “If only I’d listened to Linda. None of all this would have happened. No darklings, no war… and you… you’d still have your arm.”

“We all make mistakes”, Phineas countered. “The reason I lost my arm in the first place was that the Duke amplified Ferb’s emotions - and those were anger, mostly; anger because I was stealing his spotlight. That’s something I’d never even considered before. I felt shocked, of course, and guilty… but even now, after it’s over, I’m not beating myself up over it. Wouldn’t be doing any good, to anyone. I know Ferb still hates himself for hurting me, and you hate yourself for… everything… but that’s okay. I know that’s stuff you can’t just brush off that easily. I just… I just want you to know that I don’t hate you for what you’ve done. Nobody does. The only thing that matters is that you regret the bad stuff you were involved in.”

“You have no idea…”, Josh muttered. “It’s ridiculous if you think about it. Yesterday I gave a similar speech to Ferb, about making mistakes and learning from them - and here I am, beating myself up about the exact same thing.”

“I know how you feel. We’re so focused on making other people feel better that we forget ourselves in the process.”

“...I suppose that’s true.”

They remained silent for a while until it was Phineas who spoke up again.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Dad.”

And for the first time since meeting his son, Josh cracked a smile. “It’s nice to finally meet you too, Phineas. Even though I’m probably not what you expected me to be.”

“Are you kidding? You’re everything I could have wanted and more. You’re an inventor, like me, and you’re best friends with Ferb’s mother. I couldn’t imagine anything better.”

Just then, Josh heard the door being opened - and saw Ferb enter the room. The boy did not have to say anything, his glance at Josh was enough.  _ Is everything alright? _ , his eyes asked, to which Josh replied with a barely noticeable nod.

“Hi, Ferb!”

The boy nodded at Phineas, and Josh noticed that Phineas had been right: his brother, too, was still looking at his missing arm more than anything. Then he sat down beside his still sleeping mother, tracing circles in the palm of her hand like he had done the days before.

Josh felt bad once again - he’d been ignoring her up to now, what kind of friend even was he? But, again, what was he even supposed to say once she woke up? An apology, maybe, but everything he had allowed to happen was her doing too. And whatever he said, she probably wouldn’t even understand him.

Then Ferb gestured him over and inched aside, letting Josh be the one to trace the circles. The man stared at Melody’s beautiful face as he did so, the face he had last seen so many years ago. And even then, it had only been on a computer screen, so actually  _ seeing  _ her was just as new for him as it was for the others. He looked at her… and suddenly, she looked back at him.

She was as startled as he was when it happened, only relaxing when she saw Ferb right next to him. And once her initial shock was over, she smiled at Josh as well. Was she sharing his thoughts? No way to know for sure.

“Mel”, Josh said, still not sure how to begin. “It’s good to have you back.”

He didn’t know if she understood what he was saying. But when she closed her hand around his finger, he at least knew they were thinking the same.

At some point, Ferb cleared his throat, and as they all looked at him, he held up a book.

“ _ Ferb’s Log _ !”, Phineas identified it quickly enough. “That’s a fantastic idea! Now if only…”

But Ferb had already set to the task of setting up some electronics, and within minutes, the first page of the book was being projected onto the wall in front of them.

“Great thinking, Ferb!”, his brother exclaimed, and more curious than anything, Josh turned to face the projected image.

“So”, he asked, “What  _ is _ this, exactly?”

“Ferb’s keeping track of everything we’ve built this summer”, Phineas explained. “Something I can’t wait for you guys to see! What did you build back then… I mean,  _ how _ , with her being in London the whole time?”

“It really was mostly the video chat”, Josh admitted. “I’d come up with something and then Mel would show me and Bernie what to do before he’d take care of the coding. The two of us weren’t all that bad when it came to building stuff, we just needed someone to tell us what to do and when to do it, and she was absolutely amazing at that.” He looked at Ferb as he continued. “Oh, and there was the shrink ray! One of the first things we ever built. Whenever our inventions turned out to be huge, we had no place for them to go, so we shrunk them down and mailed them to Mel.”

“She kept them all”, Ferb nodded. “I remember them.”

“Good times, good times”, Josh said, mostly to himself. “Now let’s see if you guys can compare.”

And as Ferb went through the pages of his Log, Phineas narrated it all. Everything they’d built, in just that one summer, all of it on par with Josh’s own big ideas. More often than not, Phineas also went into what Ferb in particular had contributed to the invention, and Ferb himself occasionally added a small remark on the matter.

Phineas’ voice became so excited at times that, at last, Josh risked a glance at his son. And as he saw him there, so full of happiness and joy, he saw his own, younger self in him, the person he had been before things had gone wrong. Just for this moment, all of his traumatic memories were forgotten, and he smiled - at his younger self, at his son… at everything.  _ Maybe this isn’t so bad after all _ , he thought.

Maybe he, too, could be happy again.


	5. #5 - Spilling Royal Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Finn attempts to process the day's events and his possible futures, he comes up with a plan that he's sure is best for everyone involved.

Finn doubted he would be able to sleep tonight. He’d just returned to the castle with the other kids and was now heading to his room, Melody by his side as he was still having trouble walking long distances all by himself.

_ Thank you _ , he said to her in the language of the darklings as they arrived at a wide door at the end of a hallway.  _ You should go back now. _

_ I’ll stay _ , she replied, gentle but persistent.  _ To keep you safe. _

Finn didn’t dare argue with her. In fact, he appreciated her concern… when had anyone ever expressed something like that toward him? 

Today, of course. So much had happened that he still wasn’t quite able to piece together. He had met so many people today, more than in all the years before. As hard as he found it to remember all of their names, some of them stuck well enough. There was Can, his sister who had shown nothing but kindness to him - it pained him to admit that he didn’t remember her at all. Of course, he had only been two years old when the Master had taken him, but still… he wanted nothing more than to feel what she felt when she saw him. This  _ bond _ he knew they were supposed to share.

There was Phineas, too, a perfect replica of himself if things hadn’t turned out the way they had. At least that was how he saw him: brave, optimistic, with all the right words to say. A true hero… unlike Finn himself. He hated the truth, but there was no denying it: he had worked for the wrong side his entire life. For the  _ villain _ . Of course, in the last several hours, he had done many things to prove that he could change, but… he wasn’t a hero, no matter how hard he tried.

Phineas was. Ferb, too. Can and Fern, of course. But him? He was too scared to ever speak up against his Master. He knew what would happen if he did. The Master would turn him into a darkling and back again, telling him of his wrongdoings while Finn would experience the excruciating pain of his transforming body. The first time the Master had punished him like this, Finn had sworn to never let it happen to himself again. And so far, the first time had really stayed the only time.

He wasn’t going to change that - he couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted to help those people he had only known for this one day - because yes, they were much better company than his Master had ever let himself be - there was no way he could risk the pain again. They had to understand that. He would let the darklings cripple him all over again, day after day, and it still wouldn’t come close to what the Master’s stone was capable of.

_ I’ll keep the nightmares away _ , he heard Melody’s comforting voice.  _ Like I should have the years before. _

Finn felt bad when he heard her this way. She way right, before today, they had never interacted much. He had often talked to the darklings, sure, but there hadn’t been much more than general sympathy between them. 

_ You never had a mother _ , she continued, his guilt growing.  _ I should have been. _

_ Stop it _ , he snarled back, harsher than he had wanted to be. He would never harm her - of course not - but her words didn’t make his already conflicted feelings any better. His frustration gave way to the sadness that had accompanied him for a few hours now, his exhaustion caused by the recent events. He really was tired, he realized.  _ Just… do your best tonight. Tomorrow. Okay? _

_ Okay.  _ Melody helped him push open the door to his room. As with the rest of the castle, it was dark at this time of day, but that didn’t bother either of them. Darklings could see perfectly fine in the middle of the night, and that was something that had stuck with Finn ever since the day… it happened. Finn was quite certain his room was one of the most tidy ones in the whole castle: the Master had never cared much about the dust that covered the majority of the building’s interior - unless it concerned objects he frequently used. Finn’s room didn’t fall into that category, but it was  _ his _ room, the only thing he really owned, and he’d vowed to keep it as clean as possible. There was not a single layer of dust on the shelves, the table, the bed… anywhere.

Melody helped him as best as she could as he got ready for bed, and made herself comfortable at its end when they were finished. As he drifted off to sleep after all, Finn couldn’t help but wonder what exactly would happen tomorrow.  _ Whoever is going to fight the Master, they stand no chance.  _ And for the first time in his life, that sentence worried him.

\---

Melody’s growls were what woke him up. As far as he could tell, it was still dark outside, so not more than an hour or two could have passed. The door wasn’t closed anymore, but open just a few inches, as if the person outside was waiting for his reaction. Finn tried to reach for his dagger, but that proved to be difficult with just that one arm, so he gave up and decided to completely rely on Melody and the hope that the person didn’t mean any harm.

“Who’s there?”, he dared ask, knowing well enough that the Master had never visited him in the middle of the night before, not once.

“Finn?”, a surprised voice replied, and the boy found himself staring at the door in confusion. He knew this person, he realized, but what did they want?

“...come in”, he said as he managed to make himself sit up, and watched as the person entered the room. Fern. The boy remained near the door, but Finn could tell he had a reason for coming. “...who else is with you?”

“Nobody.”

The two boys went silent while Finn resorted to burying his remaining hand deep inside Melody’s fur, stroking it as she lay down on the bed because she didn’t consider Fern a threat.

There had been a time Finn had, though, and both he and Fern knew they were thinking back to the night they’d first met. That’s why there was silence.

“...sorry for the scar”, Finn said at last, looking at the wound he’d caused ages ago, barely noticeable in the nonexistant light.

“Hey, you didn’t kill me back then”, Fern replied with a sincerity Finn hadn’t heard from him before. “You could have, but you didn’t. I gotta thank you for that.”

“I…” Finn stopped himself, he had no idea what to respond to that. Of course he hadn’t killed him, they’d been… what, eight years old? And even now, he knew just to well he’d never see it through. To kill a person… He froze. Maybe he’d have to. Tomorrow. If the Master let him fight in his place… “Is that why you’re here?”, he eventually asked to distract himself from that thought. “To… thank me?”

“No”, Fern admitted. “Honestly, I didn’t even expect to find you here. I’m just here for… the room.”

“Do you… do you want to see the blood?”

“ _ What? _ ”

Finn flinched at the harsh voice, which caused Melody to growl at Fern.  _ It’s okay _ , he quickly reassured her.  _ Don’t get mad at him.  _ “I… I thought you knew”, he quickly replied.

“Know what?”

“This… this is the room where the king died.”  _ My father _ . “I, um… the blood is still there. Under the rug.”

“Huh.” Fern just stood there for a moment. “Could you… make a light? I don’t exactly see anything.”

“I’m sorry, but… I don’t have anything to do it with.” He should have, though, right? “Please don’t get mad at me.”

“Hey, I can’t blame you,  _ you _ can see in the dark.” Somehow, Fern managed to make his way over to the bed, and Finn let him sit next to him. “I can’t believe I never knew.”

“What do you mean?”

“The blood”, he said, and Finn was sure he had never heard him as… uneasy. “This was my room, you know. I mean, I’m sure it was yours first, but then we moved here and it became my room… and now it’s yours again. What irony.”

“...irony?” That wasn’t something he was familiar with.

“Well, I grew up believing I’d rule this place someday - not that I ever felt in the mood to do so, but especially in the last several years, I realized I’d have to do it, heir to the throne and all… but now that you’re back in the picture, by all definitions, you’re the next in line.”

“...oh.” Finn didn’t know how to feel about that. He knew what Fern was implying, of course, but he couldn’t picture himself in that role. At all. “I don’t know. I don’t have any experience with anything but…”, he paused, “...but serving.”

“Can will be there”, Fern reassured him. “I’ll be. But the people will want  _ you _ to rule. You’re the son of the good king, not me. The rightful heir.”

“...you really think you’ll win tomorrow?”

Fern sighed. “I’m not convinced we will, no. But Phineas taught me to believe. After all, what else can we do?”

_ Phineas.  _ “I just…”, he began, terribly unsure about his wording. But Fern being here was a chance he had to take. A sign. “I’m just saying, the Master… I don’t know if he’s going to fight. Maybe he’ll make me fight for him, and if he does… I can’t spare you. Any of you.” He felt his voice crack. “It won’t stay a scar this time. I’ll have to kill you. If I don’t, he’ll punish me, even if I win anyway, and -”

“Finn.” Fern put his hands on his shoulders, looking him in the eye even though Finn still wasn’t sure whether Fern saw anything to begin with. “I know you’re not a bad guy. All of us know.  _ You _ know. None of us will hate you if you have to fight us.”

“You don’t understand!”, he cried out, pulling away. He knew he was a miserable thing to watch, or listen to, but he couldn’t help it. “I’m a good fighter. You  _ know _ I am. Even with what happened. I didn’t kill you last time but I know I will tomorrow… I have to. Maybe not you, but Can. Or whoever else of you is gonna fight. Don’t make me.”

Slowly, Fern nodded. “I’ll make sure the Duke doesn’t make you fight. But if he does...” He hesitated, unsure of how to continue. Clueless on what to do in the oh so likely case.

“If he does, you’ll kill me.”

Fern froze. “No way.”

“I don’t want to fight you. Any of you. I don’t want to  _ hurt _ any of you! I’d rather… I’d rather die in a fight against you than endure the Master’s punishment.”

Fern remained silent for a moment before cracking a smile he couldn’t possibly be serious about, his voice dry and heavy. “What irony”, he repeated his earlier words. “That  _ I _ ’d be the one to kill  _ you _ in the end.” He rose from the bed, returning to the door.

“Fern?”, Finn dared ask.

The boy stood still, his hand already on the door handle.

“Thank you. For saving me.”

There was only one more sentence Finn heard before Fern closed the door behind him. “Let’s just hope he won’t make you fight in his place.”

Finn silently agreed. Nothing the Master could do could be worse than that.


	6. #6 - Promise Keeper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone knows that it was Hans Doonkleberg - the Duke, as he was commonly called - who had killed the king that one fateful night.  
> Fewer people know that he had also taken the king's son with him, alive and well.  
> And not a single person knows of the promise he'd made that night. A promise he never thought could be this hard to keep.

Tonight was the night the world would change. _No_ , he corrected himself. Tonight was the night _he_ would change the world.

He strode through the halls of Firestone Castle with long, confident steps, but made no sound. He knew what he was looking for - who he was looking for - and where. His carefully selected spies had told him. He knew the guards’ schedules, he knew they wouldn’t be in this part of the castle. The smirk on his face widened to a grin. _Not tonight, anyway._

He hadn’t even placed a hand on his sword’s handle, that’s how certain he was of his plan working out. It had up to now, it’d continue to. He would make it happen, and nobody would stop him. The next few minutes would change everything.

It wasn’t even _his_ sword. It was his brother’s - Robert’s. On any other day or night, the mere thought of his existence would drive him mad. Make him want to travel all the way back to his hometown in a kingdom far far away just to kill him in his sleep. But he knew that wouldn’t do him any good.

No, this was a far better plan. And this wasn’t any other night. Tonight, he would take his first step in showing his brother, his parents, _the world_ that he was tired of being in his brother’s shadow. It was always the oh-so-perfect Robert Doonkleberg who got the fame and glory. The knight in shining armor who had single-handedly defeated the mystical _Hirschhorn_ , a beast with a stag’s antler and a bull’s horn, and gifted its head to their father. He was the younger brother, yes, but he was also the handsome one. The one the people looked up to and loved.

Compared to him, Hans was hideous. Useless. And he was _always_ compared to him. He wasn’t bad at swordfighting, he wasn’t bad at hunting, he wasn’t bad at reciting all the kings and queens in the world. He just wasn’t as good as Robert.

But one thing he knew: he was more creative. He could come up with the most convoluted plans to get what he wanted, and it’d work out. He was the one who’d devised the _Hirschhorn_ ’s trap, who read the hunting trails for Robert to follow. But did anyone care? Of course not. Nobody thanked him, not even his brother. _Especially_ not his brother. Even though he was well aware that his success had fully depended on him.

Leaving the country - with Robert's sword, too - would expose his brother to the truth. But that wasn't enough. No, Hans would show them all what he was capable of. Tonight. Now.

The room wasn't locked. Not that he was surprised, but at least he was able to rely on his spies. Not many could say that. He lit a few lamps, not that it mattered. Nobody was here to stop him, apart from the man he was waiting for.

And then he saw it. The cradle he'd been meaning to find. In it, a boy, not older than two years, and already a perfect likeness of his father, the king. The second Hans touched him, however, the boy woke up, staring at him for a short moment before he started to cry.

Hans left him lying there for the time being. As much at the boy's cries broke his heart - he had a daughter, and as bad as their relationship was now, it hadn't always been - he needed them for his plan. He needed the boy, Finn, to cry, the louder the better. Only his father would come to save him now. His father, the king.

He heard footsteps outside, rushed as if running, and he laughed as the man appeared in the door. Apparently, the king would die in his nightwear and still half asleep.

He did have a sword, but that wasn't going to help him. He looked more worried than angry. This was going to be easy.

“Who are you?”, the king asked over his son’s cries. “Step away from my son.”

Hans did as told, placing a hand on his brother's sword. “My name is Hans Doonkleberg”, he grinned. “The last face you'll ever see.”

“We don't have to fight. Tell me what you want, money, land, anything. We can solve this without violence.”

“Oh, but I _want_ your death. That's why I'm here. So unless you do me the favor of jumping out the window…”

He could feel the king’s fear. Hans was the one in charge of the conversation, and the king was all too well aware.

“I'm not scared of fighting you.” They both knew he was lying. “But whatever happens… even if you win.” _When I win, you mean._ “You aren't going to hurt my son. Promise me that you won't.”

Hans nodded. He was a little evil, perhaps, but he wasn't a monster. “I’m not here to hurt him”, he said truthfully. “I promise no harm will come to him.”

The king was visibly relieved. “Let's get this over with, then.”

Hans didn't let him finish. He drew his brother's sword and attacked immediately. The king blocked his move, but only narrowly. After that, though, he wasn't half as bad as Hans had thought he would be. He cackled, covering up the sudden realization that he might lose this fight after all. He needed a miracle.

It came.

It was the scream of a young girl that distracted the two of them for a moment. The king stared at her - at his daughter, Hans knew - and his eyes urged her to leave. But there she stood, eyes wide open in horror, and Hans knew that he should take his chance. Now or never.

“Long live the king”, he grinned as he pierced the king right through the heart, and drew his sword from the body to accelerate the bleeding. The king sank to his knees, then hit the floor with the rest of his body, the blood beginning to cover the ground beneath and around him.

The girl screamed again, tears in her eyes, and Hans tried to suppress the realization that he had just killed a little girl’s father right in front of her.

“Go!”, he snarled, and she immediately followed the order. He stared at the now lifeless face of the king, and he felt… guilt? No, it couldn’t be. _He was a bad king_ , he told himself, knowing that this was all but true. _I did everyone a favor by killing him._

His gaze shifted to Finn who had turned silent again - was he scared? Of him? Not that he could blame him, but still... Hans walked over to the boy and picked him up, this tiny human being that continued staring at him with wide, scared eyes but didn’t move.

“Don’t hate me”, he whispered, fighting his own emotions. “Please don’t. This had to happen. You’ll see why.” He made his way back to the hidden tunnel he’d come from, terribly glad Finn still kept silent. He’d raise the boy now. Finn had a right to the throne, and if he was loyal to him by the time he was an adult… as his advisor, it’d be Hans to rule the kingdom.

And then, of course, there was his ex-wife who had insisted on taking their daughter with her when she’d left. He missed his little girl - and if he couldn’t have her, he could at least be a father to this boy.

He had a promise to keep.

\---

“Good morning, master!”

“Good morning, Finn.” Hans smiled down at the boy. He was six years old now, and everything had gone according to plan. He hadn’t hurt him, not once, and in spite of his cheerful and curious attitude, Finn had never disobeyed him, aside from some minor setbacks. He looked up to him, Hans knew, and he himself had not regretted a single moment of the past four years.

“Can we go outside?” Finn asked, and Hans shook his head, just like all the other times the boy had asked for the very same thing.

“The other people can’t know you’re still alive”, he said. “Not yet. But one day, we’ll get out of hiding, don’t worry about that.” _Soon, I hope._ He rose from his seat.

“You’re going to visit our guests, right?”

He raised a brow. “Why do you ask?”

Finn went silent for a moment. “You said their latest invention would be done soon. I was hoping that you’d show me.” He bowed his head. “Master.”

How could he turn down that request? It couldn’t hurt to have Finn know what it was capable of. “Come, then.”

The boy knew the way to the caves they kept their ‘guests’ in - they were, of course, prisoners, but Finn was too young to know or care. For him, the bars they were stuck behind were nothing more than a replacement for the rooms he couldn’t provide, Hans supposed.

“Good morning”, he greeted one of them upon entering a particular cave. He only had two prisoners, but he couldn’t risk them talking to each other apart from the things he sent Finn to deliver between them. Only now did he notice in what a good mood he really was - in Finn’s presence, it was hard not to be. “How’s the project, Josh?”

“Finished”, the man replied, holding up a small, altogether unspectacular stone. Hans didn’t miss his side glance at Finn, but paid no mind. “Of course, we haven’t tested it yet, so we can’t say whether it works for sure, but…”

“No _but._ ” Hans shook his head, snatching the stone from the other man’s hand. “How can I… unleash it to the world if I can’t be certain about its workings?”

“Then test it”, Josh said. “Just let us leave. We did everything you wanted.”

“Not yet”, Hans replied absent-mindedly. He couldn’t test it on his prisoners, he needed them. He couldn’t kidnap a stranger, it was too risky.

“Master?”, he heard Finn ask.

Still pondering, he replied: “What is it?”

“Can I do it?”

Hans froze. _Of course not_ , he wanted to say. “You don’t know what we’re talking about. And it’s far too dangerous for someone like you.”

“But I _want_ to help you!”, Finn insisted. “You want me to rule one day. I’ll be king. I need to be brave.”

Hans glanced over to Josh, and found that the man carried the same expression as the king so many years ago. Utter panic.

He didn’t feel so certain either. Who knew what would happen… and yet, they had nobody else, and if even Finn himself wanted to do it…

“Alright”, he said, clutching the stone tightly. Resting his gaze on Finn.

And the boy screamed.

It wasn’t a scream of fear like four years ago. It was a scream of pain.

Hans felt his hand grasping the stone so tightly that his nails dug back into his palm as he watched Finn’s body transform. The boy’s clothes were ripped apart as his shape shifted; his fingers and toes became claws as he fell to his knees, but even the arms that were now front legs couldn’t support him as he shook and cried out his pain. These cries soon transitioned into howls as his head took the shape of a wolf’s, and black fur spread all across his body.

Then, all at once, his howls, too, died away, and what once was Finn sunk powerless to the ground.

Hans’s thoughts raced, a chaotic loop of _What have I done?_ and _It actually worked!._ The stone really did give him the power to turn people into canine beasts. “Excellent work”, he said to Josh, but quickly noticed that the man was shaking just like Finn earlier, staring at what he had created without giving a single hint that he had heard Hans in the first place.

“This shouldn’t be”, was all Josh mumbled. “This… this _darkling_ …”

“Darkling”, Hans repeated. He could get used to that term. But he quickly focused back on Finn, it was time to prove that the process worked the other way around as well.

He sighed in relief when it did reverse the transformation, the claws and fur disappearing until Finn, the human Finn, was lying naked on the ground before him. But he knew something was terribly wrong: this time, Finn hadn’t made a single sound.

Hans ran over to the boy, taking off his cloak. Finn seemed so fragile now, so small… and he really needed the cloak before Hans could get him something new to wear. “I’m here now”, he whispered. “You were brave, okay? You did great.”

As he attempted to wrap the cloak around him, Finn opened his eyes. But they weren’t the eyes of a boy who’d just done something remarkable and was now proud of his achievement. They were the eyes of a boy who was utterly terrified, a boy who scrambled away from the stone as fast as his weakened limbs could carry him. Away from Hans.

He wanted to yell at himself for what he’d just done. He wanted to cry at the sight of the boy. _His_ boy. The boy he’d promised not to harm.

And now he’d broken that promise.

\---

The transformation had changed Finn in more than the literal sense. There was nothing left of the once so cheerful boy. During the first couple of days, Finn hadn't listened to him once, too scared of him to move an inch. That only changed when Hans couldn't take it anymore.

“Do what I say”, he'd yelled at the boy. “I'll turn you back into a darkling if you disobey.”

Since then nothing had been the same. He had developed other methods of training the boy, as frustrated as he had often been. Finn feared him now, he knew, and he hated that fact. It didn't get in the way of his eventual plan of taking over the kingdom, but he'd completely broken the boy that, as reluctant as he was to admit it, wasn't so much of a son to him anymore. Now he was nothing more than a servant.

Sometimes, on rare occasions, Hans tried to change that. He'd talk to Finn about what had happened, even though he never made it past his truthful "You asked for it!" before Finn stopped listening. The boy took this sentence as just another confirmation that he'd done something wrong and had merely been punished, that it was all his fault and he needed to behave better. Finn's voice had cracked often enough during these times, to the point where Hans eventually decided to let it be, as much as it pained him to do so.

Josh, too, had changed after what he'd witnessed. He didn't even dare touch a pen at this point, too scared of what horrible invention he'd come up with next. He was absolutely useless now, but unlike the other prisoner, the woman, Hans couldn't turn him into a darkling. He looked too much like the king he'd once made a promise to.

A promise he'd failed to keep.

\---

By the time he turned twelve, Finn was an entirely different person - and so was Hans. Finn had stopped crying and cowering in fear, but he was still scared of Hans. The man had decided to accept the role Finn had pushed him into and lived the lie the boy believed: the darkling transformation had been a punishment for Finn's disobedience, just like every other hurtful thing he'd ever say or do to the boy. Finn should be eternally grateful for his mercy, and everything Hans had ever done was for his and Finn’s own good. He didn't tolerate disobedience anymore, and didn't let Finn ask questions. If the old Finn was gone, Hans couldn't allow any traces of him.

It was easier that way.

He ruled the kingdom now, only a single boy standing between him and the other world: Josh's son. Hans knew he had already arrived… and when he realized he'd need to hurt Finn again, to the point of permanently crippling him, only to make this plan work… he didn't care. It didn't matter.

The boy he'd promised not to hurt was long gone.

\---

“Dummkopf”, Hans mumbled as he stepped through the dark corridor. “Dummkopf, Dummkopf, Dummkopf!”

He didn't care if people heard him. It didn't matter. Nothing did.

Finn was dead. Killed by the boy who now ruled the kingdom.

“Dummkopf!”

It wasn't that kid's doing. Only his own. He'd been the one to break Finn's bones and then turn him into a darkling so his insides would be scrambled beyond repair. The boy king had only relieved him from the pain.

He felt the urge to punch the wall beside him, but one of his hands was still recovering from his fight against Finn.

The fight that had killed the boy.

“Dummkopf!”

Finn had been right with every word he had said to him then. _Fern_ had been right with everything. He _was_ a monster. A heartless, cruel monster that harmed innocent children for his own good. For proving his own stupid brother wrong. That wasn't a reason, that was a sorry excuse for his miserable personality.

He wanted to cry when he stepped into the light. Months had passed since Finn's death, and only now did he dare visit the place he'd never actually been to before. He should have been, he knew it, but he’d never found the courage to talk to the man he'd killed.

He felt only two emotions when he stepped up to the grave of Finn and his father: respect and fear. He knelt down before their statues, forcing himself to look at their faces. They were smiling, but deep inside he knew they hated him with every fiber of their being. And Finn… Finn hadn't smiled for six years, not since before the darkling incident. Or maybe he had - when Josh's son had been there. The boy had changed him - no, he'd revealed that the old Finn had been in there all along.

“I’m sorry”, he whispered, but then he decided that his volume didn't matter, so he allowed himself to cry. To mutter - to scream - his hate against himself in the language of his ancestors. _Dummkopf_ was the lightest of curses he uttered. He knew what Finn had told him: _All you did was teach me to hate_.

He was right. He was so very right. Hans should have done better. In every godforsaken way.

He should never have listened to Finn’s plea of trying out the stone. He should have tried harder to make up for it. He should have been a father, not a master.

He should have kept his promise.


	7. #7 - Fixing What's Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Most of them had kind of expected to see someone dead by the end of the day. But when that person turns out to be Finn, killed by none other than Fern, things become a lot harder to process than any of them could have predicted. Now, between Finn's death and the past catching up with everyone in the form of once-again-human darklings, the time might finally have come for Bue to prove his worth.

He had never seen Fern cry before. Can, sure - he’d been there often enough when she was kept awake at night by dreams of horrible events from many years ago. Bal was no different, not that he’d ever admit it. He was tough on the outside, tough and grumpy… but Bue knew all too well that that wasn’t really him. No, Bal was probably softer on the inside than all of them, even Bue himself. And no matter how upset Bal thought it’d make his best friend, Bue remained there. By his side. Letting him cry and wash away the painful memories.

But Fern? Fern didn’t cry. Fern had never cried before, for all Bue knew, and he usually knew such things. What had there been to cry about, anyway? Bal had his memories of the day he’d doomed his entire village,  _ their _ village. Can had her memories of the day she’d watched her father die. Fern had… nothing compared to that, really. His mother had died when he was barely four, yeah, and he had left his duties and bloodline behind to avoid becoming the ruler of an entire kingdom. Those were tough memories, Bue wouldn’t dare argue, but still: no reason to cry, especially not for someone like Fern who bottled up his true emotions better than Bal would ever be able to.

But there was a reason now, Bue knew.

Finn.

Fern’s sword had met the ground with a clanking noise only seconds after their friends had returned to their home dimension. Fern had dropped it right after doing what Bue still couldn’t quite believe. He had  _ killed _ Finn. And now, he was kneeling beside his short-lived friend, more fragile, more  _ broken _ , than Bue had ever seen him before.

Can had joined him quickly enough, and now Bue was the only one left standing. What was he supposed to do? It didn’t feel right to evade their privacy and join them; they’d had a much closer connection with Finn than him. Still, though, he could do what he, as Ivan’s healer apprentice, was meant to do.

“Are you guys okay?”  _ What a stupid question _ , he realized right after asking it. “I mean, is there anything I can do?” He regarded the wound Fern’s sword had left: small and swift, causing Finn as little pain as possible. Unlike the horrible, horrible remains of what the darklings had done… 

“Just go”, Fern replied sharply. Bue flinched at that; he knew Fern had every reason to be frustrated, but  _ he _ hadn’t done anything to him! Or had he?  _ Had _ he upset him even further?

“Sorry”, he quickly responded, taking a few steps back. “I’ll go check on the others.”

Neither of his friends replied to that, so Bue left without another word, heading back to the underground tunnels. Bal and Izzy were there, he knew, helping all those people that used to be darklings. Izzy had friends there, and Bal…   
Bue froze. Bal’s parents were there. His friend hated them, even though he’d never dare tell them directly. And they hated him - Bue - for… existing? He wasn’t so sure. All he knew was that having Bal alone with his parents after all this time was not going to end well.

He hurried to the caves he suspected them in, and was met with the strangest sight he had ever witnessed. People, several dozen of them, men, women, children of all ages, lying on the ground of the cave before him. They were unconscious with the occasional disturbing tremble, and all of them naked, except for a few who were at least covered by cloth. And beside them, near the wall, was Bal, staring at the bodies in a mixture of discomfort and mute horror.

But he noticed Bue as his friend approached him, and for one second, Bal’s face showed a hint of relief and relaxation. For one second…

“Bue”, he said with his usual voice, stern and wary. “What are you doing here?”

_ Fern snapped at me. _ But he didn’t want to tell Bal that, it’d only make him angry at Fern. And arguments were the last thing they needed right now. “I just thought I’d check on you.”

Bue was one of the few people to actually catch the full span of Bal’s expressions, most people missed the small moments where his eyes revealed more than everlasting concern. Now, Bue caught surprise in them, shock even.  _ He’s making the connection that Finn is dead now. But of course he still doesn’t think I can handle topics like that. _

And he was right, Bal didn’t ask about it. In fact, he didn’t say anything at all.

As they both regarded the bodies, Bue noticed something. “Where’s Izzy?”

Bal grimaced. “She is looking for more cloth. I am here to distribute it.”

Bue looked around again, paying closer attention to the people. His heart ached a little when he recognized a few, faces from a life he hadn’t lived for so long. They were all four years older now, but that hardly made a difference. He was still painfully familiar with the boys who’d bullied him, and Bal’s parents, too… none of them had any cloth, he suddenly realized. The only people who did were people Bue had never seen before.

People with whom suddenly waking up and seeing Bal of all people wouldn’t be an issue.

“I know”, Bal said bitterly, as if reading his mind. “They… will get some eventually.” After a short pause, he added: “Now that you are here, I should go tell Fern about our progress.”

_ An excuse to escape this place _ , Bue knew all too well. “I’ll do it”, he offered. “Fern’s in a… complicated mood right now.”

The look on Bal’s face said it all: he understood.  _ He’d only cause more trouble if he was the one to go, with Fern acting like this.  _ “Be careful.”

“Thanks”, Bue nodded, hurrying off again, the images of the people not leaving his mind. Tears filled his eyes.  _ They’re fine now _ , he told himself.  _ They were darklings, but they’re fine. They  _ will _ be fine.  _ But why was that so difficult to believe?

When he entered the throne room, it looked exactly like he’d left it. Fern and Can didn’t seem to have moved at all, they were still crouched over Finn’s lifeless body. Part of him didn’t want to approach them, but he knew he had to. He was the healer in Ivan’s place. He had to fix what was broken.

“Fern”, he said, quiet as to not startle his friend. 

The other boy barely looked up. “What is it?”

His sharp tone made Bue hesitate, but he took a deep breath. He wasn’t supposed to be scared of Fern. “I just checked on Bal and Izzy. They need help finding cloth for everyone.”

Fern stared down at Finn’s body, just as naked as the other former darklings. He made the connection, of course he did. “Why are you telling me?”, he asked.

“Um”, Bue replied. “Because you’re our leader. Because Bal asked me to. And because you know this castle and where to fin-”

“Don’t tell me that!”, Fern snapped at him, loud and angry and terrifying. “I know this is my castle! I know I’m the stupid king! I don’t need you to remind me of that!”

“I… I just…” Bue didn’t know what to say. He felt the tears in his eyes, but he didn’t try to stop them. He couldn’t. “I just wanted to help.”

“I know”, Can said in place of Fern. “I’m sorry, Bue. I’ll help you.” She stood up, directing him away from the other boy who stared after them in silence. Once far enough away, she sighed. “I’m sorry”, she repeated. “I’m really sorry about that.”

“Don’t be”, he said, forcing himself to calm down. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have assumed he’d be over everything already.”

Can shook her head. “None of us will be. For a long time.” She looked at him, her eyes wet with tears, but full of determination. “Still, he had no right to yell at you like that. I’ll make sure to talk it through with him.”

“Thanks”, he replied, and she tousled his head in response, a strangely light-hearted gesture in a situation like this.

“No problem. Now let’s get to work.”

\---

Bue wasn’t really able to sleep that night. He doubted anyone was, but he could only speak for himself. He had volunteered to join Izzy in watching over the still unconscious people, before they would - hopefully - figure things out in the morning. Bal hadn’t wanted to, understandably, and Bue was a healer anyway, so he might as well help Izzy.

She was asleep at the moment, it was Bue’s turn right now. Nothing had happened so far, and he didn’t think anything would soon - but just as he was on his way back from relieving himself all the way out in the castle’s courtyart, he heard something. Voices.

He was too far away to understand them clearly, so he decided to sneak closer. He could only hope he wouldn’t get lost in the dark and find his way back down to the cave, but the curiosity had taken over him. He made his way to a corner of the courtyard he hadn’t been to before, and found a tunnel similar to the ones he knew, but… far more public, in a way.

He didn’t have a light, and he certainly couldn’t see in the dark. He didn’t want to go in here, not at all, but the voices were louder now, clearer.

“Thank you”, Bal said. “For letting me be the one to join you.” Bue raised an eyebrow as he followed the voices into the dark. What was Bal of all people doing here?

The other person scoffed. “Fern’s out of the question and Izzy and Bue have other things to do. Don’t read too much into this.”

_ Bal and Can _ , Bue realized.  _ Alone. In the middle of the night. But why? _

“I just… I like you, Can. I really do. But I was never brave enough to tell you.”

“Are you  _ confessing _ to me?”, she asked in disbelief, forcefully keeping her voice low. “Now out of all possible times? I thought you’d be more tactful than that.”

After that, there was silence. Bue sneaked further ahead until he saw stars at the far end of the tunnel. Stars and several moonlit silhouettes - more than two, that was certain.

Bue’s anxiety returned. What were they  _ doing? _

“This is the place”, he heard Can say. “My -  _ our _ father was buried here. Finn deserves to be too.”

Was that what the silhouettes were? Can, Bal, and Finn’s dead body? Were they really going to bury him now of all times? In secrecy, without telling the others?

_ And without telling Fern. _ Bue took a deep breath as he stepped forward. “You shouldn’t leave Fern out of this.”

His friends turned around, startled. “Bue”, Can said in more frustration than confusion. “What are you doing here?”

“Same to you”, he replied. “I heard what you just talked about. You can’t just do this without Fern. He has the right to be here. He  _ should _ be here.”

“After the way he yelled at you?”, Can snapped back. “No thanks. Fern isn’t stable. Having him be at the funeral of the kid that  _ he  _ killed -”

“Can, listen -”

“Since when are  _ you _ so verbal about this?”

Even in the dark, Bue found himself glaring at her. When had he ever glared at anyone before? “Fern is my friend”, he said, trying to stay quiet but determined at the same time. “He killed Finn because he had to, not because he wanted to. Even if he’s upset and unstable, he’s still mourning Finn as much as the rest of us. It’s not right to exclude him from something that’s so important to every single one of us.”

For a moment, there was silence.

“Talk to him”, Bal suggested at last. “Let Fern decide for himself if he wants to be here or not.”

Can sighed. “We’ll wait until tomorrow evening. You’re responsible for telling him that.”

“Thanks, guys”, Bue nodded. “I will.”

\---

His original plan had been to ask Fern during or after breakfast, but as he soon discovered… there was no breakfast. Or at least no shared one. He waited with Izzy for someone to come down into the tunnels and bring them food, to help them decide what to do with the still unconscious people that terrified him the longer they shared a room, but that didn’t happen either.

So he eventually decided to leave Izzy be and go find Fern himself.

_ Where would I be if I were Fern? _ , Bue asked himself, and didn’t have to think long about the answer.  _ As far away from the throne room as possible. _

Luckily, that place wasn’t too hard to find: The opposite end of the castle - the main gate - and more specifically, the wall above it. Standing there, staring out into the world, away from the building, was Fern.

_ Alright. _ Bue stepped forward.  _ Here we go. _ “Hi, Fern.”

His friend flinched, but didn’t turn around. “Bue”, he said, staring ahead, his voice not any less bitter than the day before. “What is it?”

“Just… checking if you’re alright.”

“No”, Fern replied within a second. “But thanks for asking.”

_ He has every right and every reason to act like this _ , Bue reminded himself. He shouldn’t try to fix him, that wasn’t what he’d come here for. And he didn’t want Fern to yell at him again… “We have to bury Finn, you know.”

Thankfully, Fern didn’t snap this time. He looked like he was going to, but quickly decided against it. “Yeah. I know.”

Bue found himself relaxing a bit.  _ So far so good.  _ “There’s a special little tunnel”, he continued. “It leads to his dad’s grave. Can thought we should bury him there.”

Fern nodded absentmindedly. “I know the place.”

“It’s this evening”, Bue went on. “In case you want to come.”

Fern stared ahead in silence for a while. “I don’t know”, he admitted eventually, his voice still lacking emotion.  _ Like Ferb _ , Bue realized. “Don’t expect me there.”

“Okay.” That was all Fern would say now, he knew. His friend had to decide for himself, he couldn’t force him to be there. “See you later, Fern.”

Fern didn’t reply to that at all, so all Bue could do was leave him there, on the castle wall, alone.

\---

Izzy accompanied him to the funeral. Bue had pondered about whether it was a good idea to leave the former darklings all by themselves for an hour or two, but ultimately, he knew he couldn’t leave Izzy out of this. And her dog, Brain, was still there to keep an eye on those they left behind, after all.

They would all be there for Finn tonight.

But as the two arrived at the half-open cave that was their friend’s soon-grave, Bue’s worry came true:  _ all  _ meant everyone but Fern.

Can greeted the two of them with a silent nod, staring behind them as if still half-expecting Fern to appear. But of course, he wasn’t coming, and she eventually looked away from the tunnel with a sigh, focusing on her dead brother’s body instead.

They’d covered it with a piece of cloth for now - for lack of a coffin, Bue supposed -, and there were two shovels leaning against the wall.

“Well”, Can said as she picked up one of them, “Let’s get this over with.”

But just as the shovel hit the ground, Fern stepped into the light of the setting sun. “I don’t think so.”

“You came”, Izzy stated in surprise as they all stared at the newcomer.

He nodded. “I’m glad I did. I knew you would all do it the wrong way.”

Can raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

Fern’s gaze shifted to the shovel. “Burying him”, he stated, a hint of anger in his voice. “He’s spent his entire  _ life _ on this mountain. On it, in it, all of his twelve years. Forcing him to remain here even after his death… we can’t do that to him. I won’t let you.”

“Then what do you suggest? Taking this down into the country?”

“No.” The determination he’d lacked for so long now returned to him. He watched the flickering flame of the torch they’d ignited. “Burn him. Burn him, and cast his ashes into the wind. Let him wander as he pleases, wherever the breezes carry him.”

“He wouldn’t be here anymore”, Can frowned, but she understood. She wasn’t trying to talk him out of it.

“He’ll always be here”, Bue countered, no matter how cheesy it sounded. And in the flames’ reflections in Bal’s dark eyes, he saw the glimpse of a sudden idea. Had his friend discovered a way to make that sentence more than just a shallow phrase?

Can hesitated, but nodded at last. “Okay. Let’s do it.”

The cold, dry rock beneath them was perfect for this kind of funeral, they all discovered with relief. No more preparation was necessary, all they had to do was put Finn onto the ground, grab the torch… and make the flames engulf his body.

It was Can who insisted on doing it, naturally, but it was Fern who needed to do it for his own personal salvation. In the end, they found themselves holding onto the torch together, making it touch Finn’s body with one shared motion.

Nobody said a word as they watched the flames and listened to their crackling noise. There was nothing to say anyway, not yet. And while he supposed they all thought back to their memories of Finn, Bue did something different: he repeated Fern and Can’s combined action in his head, over and over. He didn’t know why, exactly, but there was something about it that strangely fascinated him.

Finn’s body took a while to burn down entirely, but they all waited patiently until there was nothing left to fuel the fire and it went out all by itself. The sun had almost fully set by now, the sky was a dark red, just moments away from turning black; a void filled with the faint glimmer of stars.  _ Like Finn himself. _

“It’s perfect”, he heard Can whisper, and watched as she and Fern put their friend’s dark ashes onto the cloth from earlier. They stepped onto the very edge of the cliff, tilted the fabric - and with a single swift movement, they flung it forward, releasing the ashes into the night. They were caught by the winds immediately, and for one short moment, Bue found they didn’t look all that much like ashes. To him, they looked more like a crow taking flight.

It was then he realized what had fascinated him about the ceremony so much. Bal had told him a thing or two about heraldry years ago, the symbols and sigils of noble houses, with a particular emphasis on the rulers of Tristadtia. The last king’s sigil - and Fern’s, by extension - was an eagle with a sword in its talons, while that of King John - and Can and Finn - was the flintstone that gave the castle its name. Together, their sigils were exactly that: a black bird on a dark red field.

Would Finn have chosen this as his personal symbol if he had lived and decided to rule? That wasn’t all too unlikely… but of course, they would never know. 

Then again, as much as Finn had stood up against the Duke in the end, Bue was quite certain he’d still have left the ruling to Fern. As much as Finn would have tried, his darkling side would never have left him, even if its physical side had been destroyed. Mental scars could hurt just as well, Bue knew.

_ But Finn isn’t a darkling anymore _ , Bue reminded himself as he stared into the night, where Finn’s ashes had long melted with the darkness. He was a raven now.

He was free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Come dance with the west wind and touch on the mountain tops,_  
>  Sail over the canyons and up to the stars.  
> And reach for the heavens and hope for the future  
> and all that we can be, not just what we are.  
> (John Denver, The Eagle and the Hawk)
> 
> August 17, 2017 is not only the 10th anniversary of _Phineas & Ferb_ itself, it's also the day I very consciously chose for Finn's death (as the show and therefore _Brothers_ take place in 2017). So here's a one-shot that takes place that day and the day after, very thematically fitting. Rest in peace, my little cinnamon.


	8. #8 - Fight or Flight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bal had avoided the erstwhile darklings as well as he had been able. Too many of them were people from a life long past, people he wished he would never have to face again. 
> 
> He should have known he could only hide for so long.

It felt good to have a purpose again.

As he strode through the halls of Firestone Castle, Bal was in quite a good mood. The thought surprised him - it was a strange thing to realize, to say the least. Especially under circumstances like these.

The last few days hadn’t been easy, on the contrary. Fern had secluded himself who knew where,  and Bal hardly saw him anymore. Bal, his most loyal friend. Being in this position, though, Bal knew exactly what had caused Fern to act like this, to only be spotted once a day if one was lucky enough for even that. Everyone knew.

And could he blame him? No. Of course not. What Fern had done - the conscious decision to end Finn’s life - was a weight heavier than Bal’s own burdens. To doom a village full of people that loathed him, that was one thing. But to kill a person, to be there when it happened?

Bal shuddered at the thought. He hadn’t been there that day, already gone to help the people that had once been darklings. Maybe he had never been supposed to know how Finn had met his end - Fern, sure enough, never spoke of it. But Can had told him, on the very night she’d asked him to bury Finn with her. On the night  _ he’d _ told  _ her _ …

How foolish he had been. Can, these days, treated him like she’d always done, but he knew she hadn’t forgotten.

It was hard to forget anything, these days.

Bal heard voices from a nearby room he quickly walked past. The castle was full, much fuller than he liked it: There were the erstwhile darklings, of course, but since the day before, the other members of the resistance had joined them. Everyone was busy, no matter the time of day, as the castle was renovated, the darklings reintroduced to the world of humans, and the future of all of them figured out by… mostly Can, really.

Bal had nothing to do with any of it. He was no use carrying furniture or painting walls, he much preferred avoiding the darklings as best as he could, and he had the feeling his attempts at helping Can would only leave her more stressed out than she already was. Officially speaking, what he did was hunt: With so many people around, they always needed food, and he was glad to be of use that way. Important - and alone.

His real focus, however, was on something else entirely. Ever since Finn’s funeral, he had grown… restless, in a way. The first night, he hadn’t slept at all, kept awake by the urge to somehow make up for it. He didn’t quite know what  _ it _ was - his rude behavior around Finn? Dooming his village? Allowing the Duke to take his magical stone all those years ago?

Maybe  _ it _ was everything.

And so he had sketched. Countless drafts of the idea that had first sparked during the funeral, for almost a week. He had explored the tunnels beneath the castle, too, in search for the perfect starting point. Everything had to be just right.

The day before was when he’d had it all figured out. When he had started assembling everything, finding himself a deserted part of the tunnels that were so seldom used nowadays to begin with. When he had started to  _ work. _

He had hardly gotten anywhere on that first day. He hadn’t worked with stone this big in years, and never at all with flint. But he had soon figured out what to do - and what  _ not  _ to do - and had managed to get it all into the proper dimensions to start with. Now, on day two, he was eager to pick up the chisel again.

It felt good to get something done.

He took the secret entrance to the tunnels, lighting his torch as he did so. He had gathered a fair share of them by his workspace - working for hours at a time could easily extinguish one -, but he needed this first one to take him there to begin with. He knew the way by now, and when he arrived after just a few turns, he was ready to put his torch into the holding.

He dropped it instead.

Right by the shapes of the stone he had worked with, beyond his neat stash of tools to use - there was someone. A figure, clearly human, standing there, moving - sniffing? -, their back facing him. But as his torch fell and the light reached the figure’s eyes, they spun around.

Bal wanted to scream. The person was smaller than him, a boy around his age. Wild brown hair with only the memory of a decent hairstyle, and a glitter in his dark blue eyes that wasn’t necessarily malicious, but still made Bal more than uncomfortable. It was an  _ interest _ in him, in any case, a twisted grin that made Bal want to do nothing but turn and run.

This person’s pose, look, expression, it all screamed darkling. Worse, predator. And Bal knew this person, knew him from a life long past.

In the face of Jean Brownell, he had always been the prey.

“Squeaky”, Jean continued his grin. His voice was raspy from not having been used in a long time, and Bal couldn’t help but keep staring.  _ Squeaky _ had been his nickname back then, because of the high pitch his voice reached when he felt particularly strong emotions. Which had been all the time, with a bully like this.

Becoming a darkling was the worst that could have happened to him. Bal had known Jean was here, in the castle, he’d seen his unconscious body on the day the Duke had been defeated. His parents had been there as well, along with several other people he’d rather never meet again. And so far, he had stayed out of harm’s way.

Of course, he just had to stumble into the worst of them all. He had always been Jean’s victim of choice, but now, after four long years of being a darkling… Bal had no doubts that Jean had enjoyed the killing. The feral instincts. They were still there, plain enough for Bal to see. What was he to Jean now, after years of being a wolf? Not the inconvenient little bug he’d been before.

A deer, if anything.

“Lost your tongue?”, Jean asked, taking a step towards him.

Bal didn’t dare move. “No”, he said in the lowest, non-squeaky voice he could muster.

Jean sniffed the air again, but his grin quickly returned. Bal could swear he saw fangs there in the torchlight, large and bloodstained; a snout, black fur…

_ Keep it together _ , he scolded himself, shaking his head. The Duke was gone, his stone shattered. There were no darklings anymore.

But Jean’s eyes said otherwise.

“Arting again”, Jean observed with a glance back to Bal’s equipment. “Strong scent.”

Bal didn’t know whether to be glad or terrified by Jean’s lack of words. He hadn’t been human again long enough to regain his speech, but he very well remembered his past.  _ Their _ past. “Arting” - that was what Jean had been harassing Bal about most of the time. Not his built, his wealth, his intellect. Only his art.

_ “You call that a horse?” _ He could hear his voice so clearly.  _ “Looks more like a dog to me.” _

_ “What are you gonna do, sell this? Who’d even buy this trash?” _

_ The sound of paper being torn to shreds. Jean’s laughter as Bal had yelled at him with tears in his eyes. “Squeaky’s at it again!” _

The realisation hit him like a punch right in the face. Jean had followed his scent here, like any canine was able to do. With only one goal in mind.

“Don’t you  _ dare _ touch anything.” Bal didn’t cry this time. He only glared. And yet, at the same time, he heard it himself: The contraction he never used.

The slightly higher pitch of his voice.

Jean’s chuckle was more of a bark in places. “Or what? No bow - no shooting. No power.”

Bal bit his lip. Of course he wasn’t of use in combat without his arrows. But he wouldn’t have shot Jean, would he? Like he had done with darklings before? Jean was, for the most part, human now. This was different.

Right?

“This is more than  _ art _ ”, Bal heard himself say. “This is -”

Jean spun around. Back to the stone he couldn’t break. But there were Bal’s sketches, they both knew, sketches he very desperately needed…

Bal leaped onto Jean’s back, knocking him over, the boy’s face hitting the ground. Bal’s vision was blurred - was he crying again after all? He made out two noises: the high-pitched yelling - his own - and the growling. The snarling.

Before he could react, Jean had gathered his strength and gave way to his own anger. Pushing himself up quicker than Bal could process, glaring at him with these inhuman eyes. Within this blur of noise and motion, Bal felt himself hit the ragged surface below. He saw Jean’s hair far closer than was comfortable, felt the sudden sharp pain in his arm. He tried to fight back, to  _ get him off _ , but he stood no chance. He heard fabric tearing, something raking his very skin. His mind took him back to four years ago, to the darkling he’d faced protecting Bue. These were the same twisted claws ripping him apart, the same exact growls.

As Jean’s hair turned black before his blurred vision, so did the world around him.

\---

_ Breathe. _

The voice within him was faint, but there.  _ Breathe _ , it called him.  _ Breathe. _

He did as told and tried to feel it, the air inside his body. Everything hurt, but it was still there. His arms, his legs, his everything.

He was alive.

For a moment, that was all that mattered. He moved his fingers, one by one, his toes and feet.

“Good”, he heard someone say. A male voice, not his own. Wise and soft and calming.

Ivan.

Slowly, Bal dared open his eyes. Somewhere above him, by his side, was the familiar face of the scarred, blind boy with ginger hair, smiling right into his soul like the greatest thing in the world. And Ivan was, in a way, right here, right now. “We have lived these hours before”, he stated without judgement. “You, injured by a darkling, protecting something you care about. Me, treating your wounds. And Fern, saving you before the worst could have happened.”

Bal couldn’t help but gasp, no matter how much that made his body hurt. “Fern…?” His voice was weak - not squeaky anymore, he thought bitterly.

Ivan nodded. “Wandering the tunnels clears his head - I hope. He heard some rather concerning noises… and found you.”

“What about…” He didn’t even want to think about him. But he had to. This mattered more than anything right now.

“Your belongings are safe”, Ivan said. “Whoever you fought left on their own, Fern told me. Without mortally wounding you or destroying anything in the room.”

“No”, Bal muttered. Ivan’s words made no sense. Jean, of all people… “He would not…”

Ivan observed him thoughtfully, with his blind eyes that revealed nothing at all. “What happened?”

And Bal told him. He had to take breaks after every other sentence, when the pain became too much to bear. Ivan didn’t rush him. He waited patiently, readjusting his bandages as Bal talked. Bal himself looked away from Ivan’s actions soon enough, when it became apparent how badly wounded he had been. Jean had bit him, used his fingernails - neither fangs nor claws, and Bal knew all too well how things would have gone down in that case. He told Ivan everything that had happened - everything he remembered happening, anyway - and ended with a question he found himself thinking about. “What… will happen to Jean now?”

Ivan gave him the reassuring smile he was the master of. Coincidentally, he was also the master of cryptic phrases. “We shall see.”

Then he stood up and left the room.

\--- 

Bal did not know much about the passing of time in his current situation. He rested most of the time, ate when someone brought him food, and talked to the visitors that occasionally came. Bue checked on him, of course, Jared and Colin were surprisingly concerned about him, and even Fern came to see him. He hadn’t said much, just sat there, watching Bal in worried silence.

Bal had found it reassuring regardless.

Ivan had just come to treat his wounds again and left soon after, but Bal could still hear footsteps. Not Ivan’s, that much he knew. He sat up somewhat, curious about who it might be. Was it Bue? Fern?

It was Jean.

Bal clutched the sheets he was lying on as he watched the all too familiar person enter the room. There was a bruise on the boy’s face where he had hit the ground during Bal’s attack, but Bal only noticed it fleetingly as all the terrifying thoughts entered his mind. Why was Jean here? To taunt him? To properly kill him this time?

Either way, there was nothing Bal could do. He wasn’t strong enough to get up, let alone get past Jean. He was the deer in a dead end, and the wolf was here to slay him.

“Squeaky”, Jean stated, walking up to him. Closing in.

Bal startled for a brief moment. Jean didn’t sound teasing this time, his face didn’t bear the terrible grin from before. His eyes were the strangest sight of all, so devoid of the predator’s dangerous glint. If Bal hadn’t known him like he did, he’d have mistaken him for a cub, not an alpha. This was far more disturbing than their previous encounter.

“Why are you here?”, Bal managed to ask. Not that he really wanted to know.

Jean  _ was _ nervous, he realized. He didn’t look at Bal as he spoke, and what escaped his mouth was nothing but a strange whimper.

“Speak English”, Bal muttered. Whatever Jean was up to, it was far more… obscure than usual. And that was not a good thing. Should he try to make him leave? Or buy time until someone else would enter the room?

“Sorry”, an equally quiet voice replied. “I’m sorry.”

Bal barely waited with his response. “Quit mocking me.”

He flinched at the snarl that followed, bracing himself for the attack about to come.

There was none. Instead, Jean frowned, still without even looking in Bal’s direction. “Sorry”, he repeated with an off-putting honesty. “This. This was… an accident.”

Bal closed his eyes, as if that could shield him from this ridiculous statement. “Of course it was.”

“Not my  _ words _ .” Jean risked a glance, albeit briefly. “This room.”

Bal grimaced. Was Jean trying to say that he hadn’t wanted to attack him? Why on Earth would that be the case?

Jean sensed his doubts. “Fight or flight”, he said with the hint of his usual smile. “Or both.”

The fight or flight response - Bal knew it better than anyone. How one reacted in the face of danger said much about a person, he was all too well aware. Can and Fern were fighters, no question. He, though? He was useless in a fight. He was the person to flee.

But he hadn’t. He had stayed, chosen to  _ attack _ Jean. Jean had fought back, as the pain in his body didn’t cease to remind him, but then -

He had fled.

“Was it the darkling?”, Bal wondered, more to himself than to Jean - although with a dog’s fine senses, he was sure to hear every word of it. “Is it that different from you?”

“I barked”, Jean stated, smiling now, quite genuinely. “You bit. Quite well.”

Bal glanced at his bandages. “Tell that to my arm.”

“I didn’t mean to”, Jean insisted. “Promise.”

What did the word of a bully mean? Who knew. But Bal, oddly, could sympathise. Jean had been a darkling for four entire years, and as far as he could remember, he had never actually physically hurt him. Others had taken care of that…

“It is alright”, he sighed. Was it, though? The stabbing pain reminded him that no, how could it possibly be? He could have been  _ dead _ thanks to Jean.

Or the darkling within him, anyway. 

But still: Bal grimaced before Jean had the chance to reply. “What you used to do was worse.”

He could sense the confusion Jean’s expression and voice radiated. “The words?”

“What else.”

Jean glared at him, upset now. “I had no choice.”

Anger swelled up within him. Whether Jean’s words had been true or not, this sounded like he’d  _ had _ to make Bal aware of them. As if leaving him be had been  _ impossible _ . “No choice at what?”, he growled. Maybe he, too, had it in him to sound threatening after all.

“I wanted to show you”, Jean said, frustrated still. “Yesterday.”

Yesterday… before Bal had attacked him? But all Jean had been aiming for were the sketches, the ones Bal had worked so hard on for days. Panic rose within him. “What did you  _ do? _ ”

Instead of replying, Jean pulled out a folded piece of paper and handed it to Bal. He wasn’t so sure whether he wanted to open it, but how bad could it be? Reluctantly, he unfolded the sheet, and froze for a moment when he saw that yes, it was a sketch. A sketch of his exact plan, two flint-carved sculptures of Finn and his long dead father, the king.

But the art wasn’t his.

Before he could wonder about it, he noticed Jean’s suddenly proud expression.  _ He _ had drawn this piece, this near perfect rendition, down to an accuracy Bal could only be jealous of. All the proportions fit, the statues were almost  _ alive _ with expression, and Finn especially was so on point that it could only have come from someone who had been in his presence for years. It all resembled Bal’s own finalized sketch in terms of its layout, with one jarring difference -

Suddenly, it clicked. Bal looked between Jean and his art again, everything beginning to make sense in his head. “My art was never horrible”, he realized. “You never thought about it that way. Your friends, maybe, but not you. You were merely covering up your own passion you could never reveal to anyone more practically oriented than the two of us.”

Jean seemed to shrink a little at these words, and Bal knew he had guessed correctly. It was a strange feeling, a bit of relief mixed with surprise and confusion. What was he to do with this knowledge now? What did Jean expect him to do?

“We could have been friends.” He didn’t realize he had said it out loud until Jean turned away from him.

“We were kids”, Jean growled. “Kids mess up in stupid ways.”

“You did not sound much different yesterday.”

“I had no idea you’d take it this badly!”, Jean replied with an audible bark in his voice. “It’s been years!  _ Everyone’s _ over what happened before - would I have helped you with this thing otherwise?”

Oh, how wrong he was. Bal - and everyone he considered his friends - knew all too well that memories could last a lifetime. “I never asked you to.”

“‘course not.” Jean shook his head, scratching it vigorously.  _ Fleas? _ , Bal wondered, and sincerely hoped he hadn’t caught any himself when Jean had injured him. “Don’t care what you’ll do with my piece anyway. Take the credit if you want.” He shrugged. “Just get the kid right this time.”

_ The kid? _ “Finn?”, he asked. What was wrong with the way he had drawn him?

But he glanced back down to Jean’s drawing, and he saw their one striking difference again: Jean had drawn him with all his wounds, Bal without. But Jean could not possibly mean -

“Isn’t pretty, sure”, Jean said. “But  _ right _ . He was happier on that one day than he’d ever been before. For all I know.”

Bal frowned. Was Jean right? Would Finn have preferred it this way? There was just no way to know. “I will have to talk it through with Can”, he decided.

“Nah”, Jean said immediately, his eyes gleaming with excitement. The good kind, Bal hoped. “You know it’s true! It’s got to be the best version of him, not who he was most of the time. He’s  _ grown _ , Bal. We all have.”

_ Bal. _ He could not remember Jean ever using this name. Maybe being a darkling  _ had _ changed Jean in a good way, maybe he really wanted to make up for his past behavior no matter how strangely he communicated it. 

Should he give him a chance? After all this time? “I... will think about it”, he figured. “Thank you for clearing all of this up.”

“Sure thing”, Jean grinned at him. “Get well soon - and good luck with the sculptures. Tell me if you wanna collab.”

Bal just nodded as he watched Jean leave the room. Once the boy was gone, he sank back onto his bed, releasing the breath he hadn’t known he’d held.

Jean hadn’t had fangs this time.


	9. #9 - Out of Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can had hoped that the Duke's defeat would mark the beginning of a new era, especially now that the rest of the resistance is coming to help. She knows it won't be easy - life has taught her that much -, yet it seems manageable, even if Fern can't be by her side. That is, until the day his quest for peace of mind leads him to a terrible secret. A secret that could change everything... if they let it.

The hallways of Firestone Castle were quiet, the only noise being Can’s footsteps as she hurried through them. It hadn’t always been that way, she knew - she remembered the castle’s radiating energy as if it had still been there yesterday, the energy it used to have back when things had been alright. When the staff had been here, the king and queen - her parents -, and Finn. But they were gone now, all of them, fled like her mother or killed like her father and brother.

She was the only one left.

It wasn’t much of a stretch either, literally speaking. Right now, the castle _was_ empty - except for her, Izzy, and Fern. Izzy stayed with the Duke’s victims most of the time, and as for Fern… who knew at this point. She hadn’t seen him much since Finn’s funeral, as if he was really trying to avoid her at all costs.

Maybe he was. But maybe the same was true for her… it wasn’t a lie that Izzy needed all the help she could get, but that wasn’t an excuse for not seeking out her little somewhat-brother - no, who was she kidding, he _was_ her brother - instead of letting the events of the past few days haunt his every waking moment.

And still. How could she face him, after all of this? After being there when he’d -

Can couldn’t help but pause as she reached the corridor. _The_ corridor, the one with Finn’s old room, where her father had died and she’d been there to see it. She hadn’t dared set foot into this hallway for years after the fact, and even when Fern had moved in, it had taken a while for her to visit him in his room. Finn’s room. The one where everything had ended and everything had begun.

She didn’t know why exactly she thought she’d find Fern here. But he had to be _somewhere_ , and maybe that simply meant his old room. A knock on the door gave her no reply, though, and when she was about to knock again, she heard a noise. Not from this room, but one a few doors further down.

She gulped as she followed the sound, an odd kind of thud she couldn’t quite identify. It wasn’t just any room it was coming from, it was the one belonging to the king and queen. Her parents.  _Their_ parents.

With a deep breath, she entered, too scared of what she might find to knock. And whatever she had expected, it wasn’t this: Shredded fabrics, broken furniture, wood and walls with long slashing marks. Had one of the former darklings come here? But as she scanned the room, there wasn’t any sign of that; instead, she saw a familiar figure… who didn’t look so familiar at all.

Fern looked horribly thin without his jacket, fragile despite the strength he had from wielding his sword like he was doing now. When he noticed her, he spun around, ready to fight her like the demons undoubtedly in his head. Like the furniture around him. His hair was a mess, and the aggressive glint in his eyes soon turned into mere exhaustion, framed by the red and the tears from crying for what was likely to be hours. He didn’t say anything. He just stared.

The sight was worse than Finn’s death, somehow.

“Hey”, she whispered. She didn’t have the strength for more.

He exhaled. “Hey”, he muttered back, and then, before she could word her reply: “This place deserved it.”

Can glanced around the room’s debris. She wasn’t… mad at Fern exactly, she couldn’t blame him for needing something to break. “This room’s as good as the others.”

__

Fern shook his head, suddenly furious again. “It’s the only one that matters. Not because of our parents - hell, I couldn’t care less about them at this point. It’s _his_ room, Can. He was here.”

__

It was hard to tell who he meant just by looking at what he’d left of the room, but it was easy for her to guess. The Duke. Where else would he have slept but in the royal suite itself? Still, Fern spoke with such fierce determination that she couldn’t help but wonder, “How do you know?”

__

He grunted something she didn’t understand, then pointed his sword at torn scraps of paper that, if she looked closely, were scattered all over the room, too small for her to read more than a few words on each. She bent down to pick one up.

__

“Don’t”, Fern interrupted her sharply, and she froze, waiting for him to explain. “Trust me. It’s better if you don’t know.”

__

She eased her muscles again, but kept staring. What could the Duke possibly have written that made Fern tell her this? What was it about - the darklings? Finn? Detailed descriptions of how pleased the Duke was with his servitude, or the methods he used to achieve it? Fern was right, she felt sick just thinking about it.

__

“It’s nothing like that”, Fern stated grimly. He knew what she was thinking, of course he did. “It’s worse. So much worse.”

__

She couldn’t take it anymore. How could she, after words like that? Her eyes scanned the room, quickly finding a scrap of paper that had somehow survived being torn to tiny pieces. She darted forward, grabbed it - and had it in her hands before she knew it.

__

Fern frowned even more than he already had, but didn’t attempt to stop her. Instead, he turned away and closed his eyes… bracing himself for her reaction? She took a deep breath and started reading.

__

 

__

_ It’s his seventh birthday today. Or at least I think it is - it’s hard keeping track of days when you barely see the sun. It’s the middle of summer, that’s all I know. Today might well be his birthday. _

__

_ Not that it matters anymore, it’s not like I’ll be getting him anything. _

__

_ It’s the first time I won’t. I mean, what’s the point? It’s not like he’ll remember those little toys I built him the years before. As if I needed Josh and Melody for that. He was  _ my _ boy. He deserved something personal. _

__

_ I guess the past tense is accurate. Not like there’s anything left of him, is there? All because of that stupid idea I had back then. But the damage is done. No point in quitting now. Not after all of this. _

__

_ I suppose I can count myself lucky the boy’s not going to read this. He wouldn’t understand. But  _ verdammt _ , kid, trust me - or don’t, as if you ever will again -, I’d turn back time if I could. I’d fix that mess I made of us. _

__

_ Happy birthday, Finn. _

__

_ I’m sorry. _

__

 

__

She could cry. Or scream. Or tear the paper to shreds. Or pull Fern’s sword from his grasp and live up to his destruction of the room.

__

She found herself doing neither. Her mind was blank, too blank to do anything but stare at the words in front of her, neat in the beginning but spiraling into scribbles she could barely identify. But she _could_ \- and felt nothing. Or far too much all at once. “...what is this?”

__

“What do you think it is?” Fern’s voice trembled as much as her own. But his was louder, more desperate. “It’s like some sort of stupid diary he wrote every couple of weeks. Or months, they became scarce over the years.” He swung his sword into a relatively unscathed piece of furniture, not breaking the wood, but leaving a cut. Not that he’d meant for anything more. “They’re all the same. Every last page I was dumb enough to look at.” Another swing, another cut as his voice was on the verge of breaking. “Him being _sorry_ for what he did to Finn. Who does he think he is, Can? After all he did to him? How can he _dare_ be sorry for all of that?”

__

“I don’t know”, she muttered in a sudden wave of exhaustion. Hadn’t she always hated the Duke for what he’d done? Hadn’t she always wanted him to be sorry?

__

_No_ , she realized. She _needed_ the Duke to be the heartless monster he’d always been in everyone’s eyes. She _needed_ him to be the common enemy that had kept them fighting for years. And Fern, Fern needed him to blame for Finn’s death. If the Duke wasn’t the ultimate evil after all, if there was a terrifying amount of kindness in him - where did that leave Fern? The higher the Duke climbed on the morality scale, the lower Fern sank in comparison. The more horribly unjustified his actions became. One action more than any other.

__

“We have to forget we ever found these”, she decided, knowing all too well how much easier said than done it was. “Pretend he never wrote them. Pretend he never -”

__

“Wonderful idea”, Fern replied matter-of-factly. “Tell me once you find out how.” 

__

She couldn’t take a conversation like that. Not now. “Let’s get our minds off of this”, she said, remembering the reason she’d come here in the first place. “Bal and Bue will be back soon.”

__

“Where did they go? Hunting?”

__

For a moment, she was speechless. Hadn’t he noticed their absence in the last two days? But she stopped herself from commenting on that. Fern’s condition was already horrible enough, he didn’t need an additional reminder of his lack of caring for his friends. “They’re bringing the others”, she explained as calmly as possible. “Ivan and the rest from the resistance.”

__

Fern bit his lip. “Of course. Tell them I said hi.”

__

He didn’t want to come, who’d have thought. He didn’t want to announce their victory to the friends they’d fought with for years, to the resistance _he_ was the leader of. What was his plan? To hide from everyone he knew, forever?

__

She didn’t confront him with any of that. Above all of his issues, he was still her little brother, and that mattered more than anything these days. Who would be there for him, if not her?

__

She pulled Fern into a hug he didn’t see coming, but also one he didn’t resist. He dropped his sword, holding her tight instead, and she let him. Let him embrace her closure for however long he needed.

__

“I’m sorry”, he muttered, and she couldn’t help but flinch. This shortly after the Duke’s letter, these words hurt more than any other.

__

“Don’t be”, she urged.

__

He had noticed the flinch, of course, loosening his grasp ever so slightly. That, too, hurt more than she could bear.

__

“I need to go”, she said, quickly pulling away entirely and managing one last smile. “Take care.”

__

And then she was gone. She almost ran through the halls of the castle, desperate to get away from that room both physically and in her mind. It was awful, leaving Fern behind when he needed her most, but she couldn’t take it, not today. She would talk to him again soon enough. But for now, it was time for more urgent matters. They had a good chance of being more relaxing, exciting even. Hopefully she wouldn’t find another unwelcome surprise.

__

 

__

It didn’t look like that at all. Can arrived on the outer walls of the castle just in time, watching the tiny moving specks at the bottom of the hill get bigger with every step of theirs. Within a moment, her mind brushed all of today’s events aside and instead flooded itself with anticipation as she tried to match the people to faces. It wasn’t hard at all, she saw the unmistakable contrast of Bal and Bue’s figures in the lead, followed by the other couple dozen members of, she supposed with an unconscious smile, what used to be the resistance. And another figure stood out from the others: framed by the tall, lean shapes of Jared and Colin, Ivan was slowly but surely making his way up the hill, hardly struggling despite his blindness.

__

Once she was sure they could see her, she waved at them, then stormed down into the courtyard to greet them properly. It had only been a few days since she’d last seen any of them, and yet she was hit with the most overwhelming relief. These days _had_ felt like months, after all.

__

Bue was the first to arrive at the castle, hugging her as soon as he was close enough. “We’re back!”, he exclaimed, and she couldn’t help but chuckle.

__

“I can tell.”

__

Seconds later, she noticed Bal’s surprised glance. He hadn’t expected her to sound this happy this soon, that was for sure.

__

And neither had she, really.

__

“Did anything happen while we were gone?”, he asked now, his voice as bitter as always. His eyes scanned their surroundings - looking for Fern, she knew.

__

Can shook her head both in response to his question and regarding his glances as she let go of Bue. “Nothing”, she said, ignoring the frustration in his eyes because Fern wasn’t here. Then it was time to greet everyone else, and she happily did, everyone complimenting her on the victory against the Duke. The clearly, undoubtedly, one-hundred-percent evil Duke. What else would he be?

__

She found herself face to face with Ivan, if one could call it that. After all, he wasn’t just blind, but also more than a foot smaller than her. He just stood there, not noticing her yet, so she greeted him with a “Hey, Ivan” that immediately made him lift his head to meet her gaze, no matter how sightless his was. It was full of emotions anyway, pride and relief and happiness.

__

His voice, too, swelled with excitement for once. “Can”, he noted. “I knew you would make it. I’m so proud of you.”

__

_How much does he know?_ , she wondered, then decided it didn’t matter. She had the right to bask in his praise.

__

“Where’s Fern?” That was Jared’s voice, more curious than concerned - but Can already felt everyone else’s eyes on her too.

__

“Don’t worry”, she stated with as much confidence as she could muster. “He’s fine, just a little busy right now. But he can’t wait to see all of you again.”

__

Bal caught on immediately. “We can visit him later”, he decided. “For now, we should look for a place you can stay.” He turned to Can. “The west wing should be available, right?”

__

“It is”, she replied, her eyes full of gratitude. Whether she liked him the same way he liked her or not, she could always count on Bal to help her out. “Could you and Bue take them there? I want to talk to Ivan first. Then I’ll tell all of you everything later.”

__

Luckily everyone knew Ivan’s place in the resistance, so nobody objected. Instead, they all followed Bal and Bue as they called for everyone’s attention again, and eventually, Can and Ivan had the courtyard all for themselves.

__

“Let’s walk”, she suggested. Not down into the tunnels, or to the west wing, but anywhere else. Walking distracted her.

__

“Lead the way”, Ivan nodded, so she took his hand that wasn’t holding the cane. She led him into the castle and they walked for a while, neither of them saying anything. Was he waiting for her to tell him what happened? “I’ve never walked on a ground this even before.”

__

No, he wasn’t urging her at all. But his remark made her realize how little she actually knew about him. “You were from one of the villages on this side of the river, right?”

__

Ivan nodded again. “Not from the richest family. Even inside the house, the floor wasn’t exactly even. But not worse than the caves, of course.”

__

“Your family”, Can repeated. She knew none of them were in the resistance - they were darklings, if not dead. And she remembered that, unless Bal and Bue had told them, none of her friends knew what the Duke had done. “The darklings are - were - people. Those that weren’t as lucky as us.”

__

Ivan let the information sink in. “I see”, he said, as fond of this pun as always. “So you’ll take everyone to them and watch if they recognize anyone.”

__

“That was the plan, yeah.” When he didn’t reply, she dared continue: “I was thinking we could start with you.”

__

She didn’t see Ivan hesitate often, but now he did. “What are they like?”, he asked, his voice unusually quiet. “Those that were darklings?”

__

Can couldn’t help but stare at him. Somehow, it had never occurred to her that even Ivan of all people could be afraid of something. But she supposed that everyone was, in one way or another.

__

_Focus_ , she told herself as to not leave him waiting. “They’re alright”, she said, reminding herself of the moment Bue had properly met his parents again. “Most of them aren’t aggressive at all. Only exhausted… and confused. It’s taking them a while to get used to being human again. Or to our language, even.”

__

Ivan closed his eyes, pondering. “Very well”, he said. “Lead me to them.”

__

“Who are you hoping to find?”, she asked as she changed their course. Anything to prevent her mind from returning to darker thoughts. “Your parents?”

__

“I never knew my father”, he shook his head, but didn’t sound bitter about it. “And my mother wasn’t home the day the darklings came. I don’t know what became of her.”

__

“Oh”, was all she could reply. For all she knew, Ivan had never told anyone about this. He had only ever seemed to care about everyone else’s problems; it was hard to tell how he really felt about all of it. “Do you think… that she might be here?”

__

“Maybe”, he said, awfully neutral about it. Then again, who knew what his mother was like? She knew many people who didn’t miss their parents too much. “But I was mainly thinking about my brother.”

__

Can froze so abruptly that Ivan startled a little, but he was able to keep his balance. _Ivan has a brother?_ Somehow even that fact hurt her way too much. She’d told him about Finn ages ago, soon after they’d first met. Had he been able to _relate_ to her this whole time? Suddenly her fondness of him had grown even more. “Older or younger?”, she dared ask.

__

“Older.” He started walking again, and so did she. “Alvin De Bruyn. You could say I lost sight of him during the attack.”

__

She nodded absent-mindedly. “He’ll likely be here, then.” They had reached the tunnels now, and Can could tell how Ivan relaxed a little. He had really grown accustomed to the caves after all these years, no matter which ones.

__

She led her friend through the tunnels, slowly but surely. Bracing herself for the sight she was about to find, just the slightest bit jealous of Ivan for once. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - see the people weakened by all the physical and mental effects the Duke’s stone had had.

__

The cave hadn’t changed much since she’d left it earlier. Most of the former darklings were still only resting, and Izzy and her friends were tending to some of them as best as they could. Izzy’s friends had been darklings too, but since they were her age, they had recovered much faster from the darkling state than the adults, at least physically speaking. Can was glad about it, too: it was hard to take care of several dozens of people with only her and Izzy.

__

She gave Ivan a moment to take in his surroundings, then led him over to Izzy who was currently watching an older woman that seemed almost dead, but Can could see her breathing after all. “Hey”, she quietly greeted Izzy who now looked up to her with tired but curious eyes.

__

“Hey”, she replied. “Who’s your friend?”

__

Ivan politely bowed his head. “My name is Ivan.”

__

“The healer”, Izzy recognized with relief. “I was hoping you’d be here soon. Can’t say I have more than basic medical experience.”

__

“Soon”, Can assured her. “But we’re here for his family first. Do you know if there’s an Alvin here?”

__

“About her age”, Ivan added.

__

Izzy frowned, wiping sweat from her forehead. “I didn’t really get the chance to ask half of them about their names yet. No Alvin among those I know, I’m afraid.”

__

Can nodded. “Thanks anyway.” She turned to Ivan. She had to recognize his brother for him now, she knew. “Tell me more about him. What he looks like.”

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“Let’s see”, he muttered, closing his eyes in deep thought. Trying to remember the sense he hadn’t used in years. “Blond hair, longer than mine. Blue eyes.”

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“Blond hair. Blue eyes.” That wasn’t a lot of information, but she had to make it work. She led Ivan through the cave, studying every person they passed. Too old, too young, the wrong hair color… there! One of the ones that seemed to be asleep, about her age, blond hair. She couldn’t see his eyes, but he had the same face, the same long nose as Ivan. That was Alvin, no doubt about it. “I found him.”

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Ivan said nothing, only clutched her fingers a bit more tightly. With a deep breath, she took him over to his brother, keeping her voice low. The last thing she needed was a startled darkling.

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“Alvin?”

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The boy didn’t respond, but stirred a bit more. The name _did_ mean something to him.

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“Alvin”, she repeated, and then there they were: blue eyes. Looking at her in confusion, until they spotted Ivan… and not a growl, but a whimper escaped his throat.

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The sound must have felt familiar to Ivan, he squeezed her hand even more. And she let it happen - how couldn’t she? This was Ivan reuniting with his brother of all people. She knew from her own experience how hard that was. “Hello, Alvin”, Ivan told his brother, his voice softer and more emotional than she had ever heard it before. “It’s me. Your brother.”

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“Ivan”, the older boy whispered in disbelief, staring at the face he clearly recognized from a life long past. “Your eyes… these scars…”

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Ivan nodded, trying to hold back the tremble in his voice. “I got injured during the darkling attack. Since then… everything was darkness. Not just you.”

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Can wanted to run and leave them alone; she couldn’t deal with Ivan being as fragile as only his clients should be. But he needed her now, didn’t he? So she stayed, watching him and Alvin - who still didn’t growl. He only looked so painfully miserable that she had to turn her gaze away.

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“Oh, Ivan”, he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

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“Don’t be.” Ivan seemed calmer now, almost back to his usual self. “Will you let me trace your face? It’s been so long, I almost… I almost forgot what you looked like.”

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“Of course.” Alvin closed his eyes and held completely still, allowing Ivan’s hands to study his features. After many years of experience, the boy was an expert at it; not once did he accidentally poke or push too hard. “There”, Alvin sighed happily when his brother’s fingers reached the spots behind his ears. “Right there.”

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Can supposed the darklings shared any canine’s affection for this spot, and she couldn’t help but wonder if Finn would have liked it too. Maybe it would have made him feel better? Maybe she could have helped him during these first moments he had been so horribly afraid of them? She would never find out.

__

She was about to leave them be when Ivan suddenly stopped tending to his brother. “I’ll be back soon”, he told him before he rested his sightless gaze on her. “Let’s go back to the others.”

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“Are you sure?”, she asked, startled. “Nobody would blame you if you wanted to stay here.”

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He cracked the wise, reassuring smile she admired him for. “I want to stay here, I really do. But I can’t, not when the rest of our friends need my guidance.”

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“But -” Could she really let him do this? She could take care of everyone else herself. If only to give him and his brother as much time together as she possibly could. She knew all too well how much every single moment could mean the world.

__

“I remember when I joined the resistance”, Ivan continued. “In my condition, it was more of a necessity to survive than anything else. But I didn’t want to be the Blind One, the one who contributed nothing yet needed your precious resources. I gave myself a purpose - and it worked. I’m the Healer now, not the Blind One. Everyone we know has such a purpose, but most of those will have to be adjusted given this new situation we happen to be in. I couldn’t enjoy the time with Alvin knowing our friends are aimlessly lingering around this place.” He virtually beamed at her now. “I’ll help Fern and you figure things out, you’ll see. Build a new future for all of us. And that starts with granting everyone what you just allowed me to feel.”

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She flinched at the mention of Fern. How much should she tell Ivan about what happened? Everything about Finn and the fight, surely… but today’s events? No, not those. Ivan couldn’t tell her anything she hadn’t already figured out herself. She needed to forget what she had heard today, to banish it all into the depths of her mind she would never reach again. Like Ivan said, it was the future that mattered now, not the past - and the Duke’s notes wouldn’t be read again, ever. He knew well enough he couldn’t ever expect forgiveness from her or Fern. It was better to forget it all.

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It was better to move on.

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She nodded at Ivan. “Alright”, she said. “Let’s go.” 

__


End file.
